Just A Shot Away
by thorfinn965
Summary: Never, ever trust Antonio to bust you out of prison. It will go horribly wrong. (Set after the events of The Tempest, Antonio/Sebastian)
1. Just A Shot Away

"You'll be king, Sebastian. It'll be easy, Sebastian. Just kill your brother, Sebastian. If I got rid of Prospero, you can get rid of Alonso, Sebastian. Don't be a coward, Sebastian."

"Shut up, Sebastian."

Sebastian quit his pacing, folded his arms across his chest, and dropped to the dungeon floor with a loud _thud_. "Fuck you, Antonio."

Antonio merely smiled, although Sebastian couldn't see anything remotely amusing about the situation. For a brief moment on the island, it had seemed as though Prospero had forgiven them for his exile and was even going to decline to tell King Alonso about their plot to dispose of him and set the crown on Sebastian's head. But then the re-invested Duke of Milan's conscience had returned—or perhaps he had finally put the picture together and realized that his daughter's beloved was the only thing except for an aging king that stood between a would-be murderer and the throne of Naples. And so as the whole company was readying to make the voyage back to Naples, Prospero had let slip the details of their failed plan into Lady Gonzala's ear, and she had informed King Alonso, and Sebastian and Antonio had been thrown in the brig for a long, dark trip home with the bilge water oozing around their ankles and nothing but stale hardtack to eat. Upon their return to Naples, they had briefly been cleaned up and made to attend Miranda and Ferdinand's wedding. After the ceremony was over, Alonso had informed the entire gathering of their duplicity and promptly shepherded them off to the dungeon, where Gonzala locked them up and informed them they would be staying until further notice.

It had been two days since then, and their guard had been impressively mute when they questioned him about Alonso and Prospero's intentions. Perhaps he had also become vexed at Antonio's sarcastic remarks about his intelligence, since he brought them nothing more than a single loaf of stale bread for dinner.

Sebastian sighed as he picked up the thing that looked disturbingly like a rock. "This is what comes of ambition, Antonio. A cold cell and hard bread."

Yet still Antonio smiled as Sebastian tossed him a chunk of bread. It was only when Sebastian looked down at what remained in his lap that he realized this was probably because he had given Antonio the larger half of the loaf.

"On the contrary, my lord Sebastian," Antonio said, flicking the bread into the air, catching it, and then tossing it up over and over again.

"What's that, my lord Antonio?" Sebastian retorted, cocking an eyebrow. "Do you have some brilliant plan to get us out of here? Does it involve crossing out fingers and hoping the guard magically falls asleep so we can brain him with half a loaf of bread?"

Antonio said nothing. He just kept smiling.

"Oh God. That's actually your plan, isn't it?"

Antonio opened his mouth, but Sebastian cut him off before he could say anything. "Count me out of whatever crazy scheme you're about to butcher. I've had enough."

For the first time since Ferdinand and Miranda's wedding, Antonio's smile wavered. "But, Seb—"

"No." Sebastian swallowed the last of his bread and curled up his side, his back to the ex-Duke of Milan. "Leave me alone, Antonio."

* * *

Prison life was not treating Sebastian very well. In the week since they had been locked up, the dank dungeon air had settled in his lungs and left him with a cough that wracked his whole body and a chill that shook him from head to toe.

Antonio sat in the corner of the cell, watching him toss and turn and cry out in his sleep. He seemed to be having nightmares more often than not these days, although he refused to talk to Antonio when he asked about them. Actually, Sebastian had refused to talk to Antonio about pretty much anything over the past few days.

"The devil speaks in him!" Sebastian cried, rolling onto his side and throwing out a hand. "M'lord Prospero, have mercy!"

Of course his dreaming mind was dragging him back to the island. That accursed island, where over the course of a mere three hours Antonio's hopes had been catapulted into the heavens and then come crashing back down to shatter on the cold, hard earth. If only Gonzala hadn't heard that blasted humming. If only Ferdinand hadn't returned from the dead. If only Prospero hadn't reared his bookish head again. If only, if only…

He could have made Sebastian a king. They could have ruled together, Milan and Naples.

Antonio shrugged his jacket off. It was the same jacket he had worn to Claribel's wedding in Tunis, the same jacket he had worn on the island, the same jacket he had worn to Miranda and Ferdinand's wedding, the same jacket he had still been wearing when Adrian and Gonzala had plucked him from the feast and thrown him down into the dungeon.

"Smell how fresh this garment is now, Lady Gonzala," he laughed softly to himself as he draped it over Sebastian's shivering form. "But it will keep you warm, my lord Sebastian. My king."

Sebastian muttered something in his sleep and clutched at the jacket.

"I've gotten us into quite a fix, haven't I?" Antonio mused as he stripped off his shirt, folded it as neatly as he could, and slid it under Sebastian's head. "I'm sorry," he whispered, stroking Sebastian's unkempt brown hair. "I'll get us out of here, I promise."

* * *

"You look—" Sebastian broke off as he hunched over for a coughing fit. "—good without a shirt."

"You'd look even better," Antonio grinned.

It took Sebastian a moment to shake the fog of sleep out of his mind and remember that he was supposed to be furious with Antonio for getting him thrown in jail. But just as the anger was rising in his throat again, he felt the weight of Antonio's jacket on his shoulders and saw the goosebumps on the other man's arms.

"Thanks for this," Sebastian said, trying to hand the jacket back to Antonio as he started sneezing violently.

"Keep it." Antonio passed the jacket back, a peace offering.

Sebastian felt a grin tug at the corners of his mouth as he put it on, pausing for a moment to admire the other man's lithe fencer's muscles and bronzed skin. He was the exact opposite of Sebastian, who'd been scrawny and sickly ever since he was a child.

"You know what make you look truly fantastic?" Sebastian murmured.

"What?" Antonio said, dropping to the floor next to him.

Sebastian propped himself up on one elbow so he could reach over to tug on the leg of Antonio's pants.

"And here I thought you were angry at me," the one-time Duke of Milan laughed, grabbing Sebastian's hand and pulling him closer.

Sebastian nuzzled Antonio's neck, smiling through his ragged breaths as he drank in the musky scent of sweat and steel that he had not realized was so dear to him until he had feared he would lose it amidst the roaring waves and howling winds as the deck splintered beneath his feet.

"I believe my exact words were 'fuck you,'" he whispered before he was seized by another coughing fit.

Antonio slowly rubbed his back until the hacking gasps subsided. "Priorities, my lord Sebastian. Let's get out of this cesspit first."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

"Well, we could just wait for Alonso to set us free. You're his sickly little brother. He won't keep you locked up here forever, he knows you wouldn't last a month. Besides, you weren't the one who proposed the plan to murder him."

"But he'll leave you here."

Antonio ruffled Sebastian's hair, sorrow and laughter dancing in eyes that were so dark they were almost black. "I'm a menace."

"Yes, but you're _my_ menace," Sebastian murmured. "So what are we going to do?"

"You are going to cough like you're dying, I'm going to call for a guard, we're going to bash him on the head and break out of here, then we're going to hop aboard the first ship headed out of Naples."

Sebastian sighed. "And go where?"

"I don't know. Marseille. Angers. London. Maybe back to Milan eventually. I still have friends there. I think."

"That's a horrible plan, Antonio."

"Is not. Watch—you start coughing now, and we'll be out of here within the hour."

It was Antonio's reckless smile that made Sebastian roll his eyes and start coughing and hacking up what felt like both his lungs, plus whatever bits were attached to them.

"Guard!" Antonio shrieked. "Guard!"

The guard appeared right on cue, saw the king's brother convulsing on the floor of his cell, and promptly unlocked the door. Two quick punches from Antonio knocked him flat on his back.

"Ready to go?"

Sebastian's coughing shuddered to a stop as he took Antonio's hand and pulled himself to his feet. He tossed Antonio's jacket back to him and started fiddling with the guard's swordbelt, his fingers trembling as he strained to hear the sound of pounding boots racing down the corridor.

"No time for that." Antonio reached down and grabbed the saber, leaving the small dagger for Sebastian. "Come on."

Antonio grabbed Sebastian's hand, and Sebastian let himself be led through the dungeons and straight into the arms of another pair of guards. They charged, swords drawn, and Antonio thrust Sebastian behind him as he stepped forward to meet them.

There was the silver rattle of steel on steel as Antonio engaged the first guard with a smooth flick of his wrist, calm and confident and wearing a reckless smirk plastered across his face as he dueled the other man to the ground with one hand behind his back. He whirled to face the second guard, but before their blades could touch, Sebastian tucked his dagger between his thumb and his palm and sent it hurtling toward his chest.

"I could have taken him."

"A simple 'thank you' would suffice," Sebastian coughed, pulling the knife out and wiping the blade on the guard's uniform.

"Thank you for killing the man I was only going to incapacitate. Now come on."

And then they were off and running again, hurtling up the stairs two at a time and snuffing out every torch they came across, plunging the dungeon into darkness behind them.

"Prisoners on the loose! Prisoners on the loose!" The cry sounded from out of the blackness amidst the clatter of armor and the thud of falling bodies just as the duo reached the ground floor of the palace.

"Why do I let you talk me into these things?" Sebastian moaned as the slap of more guards' boots closed in from either end of the corridor.

"This way!" Antonio hissed, grabbing Sebastian's hand again and dragging him off down a dimly-lit side hall that ended in a series of winding spiral staircases.

"Why are we going up? We'll be trapped on the roof!"

Antonio ignored him and kept running. Sebastian cast a frantic glance over his shoulder and saw that the guards were close enough that the torches were bending their shadows around the stairs, swords straining toward them.

"Antonio…"

"Shut up, Sebastian."

"Antonio, you know the hallway this leads to is a dead end."

"Fuck."

The stairs finally ended, spilling them out into a narrow corridor lined with windows on one side and crumbling tapestries on the other. The far end was ominously dark and showed no sign of having a door.

"Are you sure?" Antonio growled, fingers tightening around the hilt of his stolen saber.

"I grew up in this castle," Sebastian wheezed. "There are approximately—twenty guards—between us and the only way down—from here."

"Or not." Before Sebastian could utter a protest, Antonio slammed his shoulder into one of the windows and dragged them through the shattering glass.

"Antonio, you little shit!" Sebastian screamed as they plummeted toward the waves, clinging tightly to each other's arms.

Antonio grinned his perfect smile, and then the waters of the Gulf of Naples closed over their heads. Sebastian wrenched his wrists free from Antonio's hands and kicked his way back to the surface, teeth chattering violently and hair plastered down over his eyes.

"Shoot them!" roared a voice from the castle that sounded suspiciously like Prince Ferdinand.

Sebastian gulped in a lungful of air and ducked back under the water as the thrum of crossbow strings echoed against the castle's walls. As the guards reloaded, he struck off in the direction of the harbor. That was when he noticed Antonio floundering a few feet away, barely managing to keep his head above the rolling waves.

"You jumped out—a fourth story window—into the Gulf of Naples—when you can't even swim," Sebastian coughed as he paddled over to the other man, dodging another round of bolts. "Hold your breath," he ordered as he folded Antonio's arms securely around his chest and dove deeper into the murky water.

"But you swim so well," Antonio gasped when they surfaced.

"I have also spent the past week—coughing up a lung—in a dungeon. I am not exactly—in top form." Sebastian rolled his eyes and dropped out of sight of the guards again, knifing though the winter-chilled water toward the great hulk of a ship that was slowly navigating its way out of the harbor. The crossbows had stopped firing by the time they reached the boat, but Sebastian wasn't about to look back to see what Ferdinand was doing now.

"Hey!" Sebastian bellowed, treading water next to the three-masted galleon and holding up Antonio with one arm. "Can we get a rope down here?"

To his everlasting surprise, a sailor's head popped over the gunwales, followed shortly by a rope ladder.

"After you, my lord." Sebastian swept a mocking bow, his nose touching the water, and motioned for Antonio to start climbing the ladder before he followed close behind. When they collapsed on deck a few moments later, clothes dripping in a puddle of seawater, they were immediately surrounded by a motely group of sailors. Some bore the insignia of Naples sewn hastily onto their jackets, a few boasted the Spanish flag, and several more sported the French fleur-de-lis. All were in need of a long bath and a good shave.

"Who're you?" grunted one of the men with Neapolitan arms.

"I'm Mercutio, he's Cassio," Antonio said quickly. "We've just had a bit of a scrap with Alonso's guards. Apparently we look like the pair of troublemakers who plotted against the king's life."

The men exchanged knowing looks and began to chuckle to themselves as the sails billowed and snapped in the strong eastern wind. In a few short moments, Naples was nothing but a thick line on the horizon.

"Welcome aboard _La Tempesta_," said the man with the ragged grey ponytail and bejeweled saber who Sebastian assumed was the captain.

A flash of recognition shot through Antonio's eyes, causing Sebastian's stomach to plummet to his boots. Why couldn't Antonio's plans work, just once?

"Would you like to join the crew, m'lords?" the captain asked, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Or is it back into the sea with you?"

Antonio staggered to his feet, his hand immediately going to his hip for the hilt of a saber that was somewhere at the bottom of the sea. His mouth moved without sound for a few moments before he finally managed to speak again.

"That's not much of a choice now, is it, Captain Araey?" He spat at the man's feet. "Give me a quill. I'll sign your damned articles."

"I will too," Sebastian piped up, watching uneasily as the crew started peeling off their embroidered jackets and ripping off their insignias before one man ran below decks and started to distribute a pile of plain linen shirts and leather jerkins. There was also a disturbingly large number of swords and daggers and axes mixed in with the clothes.

Antonio and Sebastian were led across the rocking deck to the captain's cabin, where they were presented with a gull-feather quill and a book opened to a page of weathered signatures. Antonio stabbed the pen into the inkwell and signed 'Mercutio' with a flourish, then handed it off to Sebastian so he could quietly inscribe 'Cassio' beneath it. They handed over all their garments with the royal crests of Naples and Milan to the quartermaster and were each issued a worn leather vest and an old sword before being turned loose on the deck again.

"Did—did we just become pirates?" Sebastian asked, running a hand through his ragged brown hair and watching a gull circling the mainmast overhead.

"Yes," Antonio replied curtly. "I'm sorry, this was a horrible idea, we should have just stayed—"

"Cap'n Araey!" Sebastian called, scuttling into the rigging and leaning into the wind, laughing as the sea foam splashed in his face. He gulped in the clean new air, clearing out the last of the dungeon's dankness from his lungs. "Where are we headed?"

The captain bit back a grin as he glanced up. "To the New World."

"The—the New World?" Antonio spluttered, a look of horror on his face. "But—but—"

"No rotting carcass of a butt for us, Mercutio!" Sebastian laughed, climbing higher into the rigging and watching the seas unfurl before them in row after row of dancing waves.

"Run up the flags, lads!" Araey commanded. "Lower the mizzenmast! I want to be passing Gibraltar before the week is out!"

Up went the black flag, and down came the white sails.

And Sebastian smiled.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

**Wow. It has been a ridiculously long time since I've posted anything here, and it will probably be a ridiculously long time before I post anything again. Sorry...**

_**The**** Tempest **_**and all its characters belong to good old William Shakespeare. Thanks, Shakespeare, for giving us so many wonderful plays full of ships and shipwrecks...**


	2. Drink Up Me Hearties

Antonio stood at the stern of _La Tempesta_, shaking his head slowly and watching as the Straits of Gibraltar faded into the distance. They should have jumped ship when Captain Araey docked at Tunis to resupply, but Sebastian had cautioned against it in case they were recognized by his niece, Queen Claribel. Antonio had bowed to Sebastian's reasoning, assuming that they would have a second chance for escape before they reached the open ocean. And they had indeed made a final stop in Ceuta, but by then it was too late—Sebastian had fallen in love with the sea.

And so here they were, stuck on a floating tub bound for the New World with a crew of murderers and vagabonds. Not that Antonio and Sebastian were much better than them, as Sebastian was all too quick to mention.

"Look at poor Milan," snickered a voice from behind him. "Pining after land already."

"Stop calling me that," Antonio snapped, whirling around to face the woman and immediately wishing he hadn't as his stomach lurched. He had thought, when they were first hauled aboard the ship, that it was crewed by men alone. It wasn't until several days into their voyage that he had discovered that three of the sailors were actually a trio of Florentine sisters.

"I'll call you whatever I please," the woman laughed. Annetta Acquati, her name was. The youngest sister. His least favorite of the trio.

"Leave him be, Annetta. He just gets seasick."

"I do not get seasick, Sebastian—" Antonio stopped mid-sentence as he heaved up the remnants of his breakfast over the side of the ship.

"You were saying?" the Florentine woman smirked. "And I could have sworn you said his name was Cassio the other day."

Antonio scowled, his fingers brushing the hilt of his sword.

"It's Sebastian Cassio," Sebastian said, slipping smoothly between Antonio and Annetta. "And he's Mercutio Antonelli, but most of the time I just call him Antonio—"

Of course it was at that moment that Captain Araey chose to appear on deck. "What's this?" he barked. "I'll have no mindless quarrels on my ship." He glared at Antonio until he removed his hand from his sword. "Perhaps you've not heard this story about me, Mercutio—or whoever you might be. Any man who raises a hand to one of his crewmates aboard _La Tempesta_ loses it. When most of the Spanish Armada and half the British Navy is screaming for your blood, you cannot afford to have your crew at swordpoint with one another." Araey spun on his heel and started to make his way toward the wheel before pausing to throw a last remark over his shoulder. "And Annetta would beat you in two minutes."

Antonio was about to reply when he felt his stomach lurch again and promptly lunged for the railing.

"I hate the sea."

* * *

This was the life that Sebastian was born for. The wind in his hair, the sea spray on his face, the shifting deck beneath his feet. Here, far away at last from his brother Alonso's shadow and the suffocating walls of Naples, he could be himself. He thought he had heard the first whisper of freedom on Prospero's Island, when it had seemed as though all he had to do was put a sword through Alonso's heart and the crown would be his, but that had been a lie. Kingship was not freedom. Kingship was a burden. Out on the open sea, now that was where he was free.

"How long 'til we reach the New World?" Sebastian asked Imelda, the eldest of the Florentine sisters.

"With good weather, probably a little less than two months." Imelda paused in her inspection of the ship to lean on the rail next to Sebastian. She was the one who had taught him how to scrub the salt from the deck without getting blisters all over his hands, how to furl and unfurl the sails in coordination with the rest of the crew, how to climb to the crow's nest and not fall straight down into the sea below. She had also given him a small flintlock pistol and shown him how to use it. Much to Sebastian's surprise, it seemed that he was a natural with firearms.

"I don't think Antonio will make it that long." If he kept heaving everything he ate up over the side of the ship, he would be nothing but skin and bones by the time they reached the New World. When they had first set out, Sebastian was glad that for once in his life he was not the sick one, but he was beginning to worry for his friend.

Imelda handed him a small vial of brown liquid. "See if you can get some of that into him. It's a ginger tonic I used on Edan and Giovanni when they used to get seasick all the time. A few drops at each meal should do the trick."

"Thanks," Sebastian said, slipping the vial into a pocket of his oversized leather vest and turning back to the sea. "What will happen when we cross the ocean?"

"We'll be in the New World. Assuming we don't have half the British fleet on our tails, we'll probably make for Nassau to start with. It's a good place to gather news. After that, who knows? We go where the wind takes us." Imelda paused for a moment, staring out at the gentle waves. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if that wind blew us straight into Port Royal. _La Tempesta_ and her crew have a few bones to pick with the British dogs there."

_Nassau. Port Royal._ Sebastian mouthed the words to himself, savoring their taste on his tongue. New lands, so far away that Naples was nothing more than a story to their inhabitants. Lawless lands. British lands—Sebastian was suddenly struck by a bolt of gratitude for the childhood illnesses that had kept him shored up inside with a tutor while Alonso fenced and rode and hunted. Because of those long hours coughing in the library, he was fluent in not only his native Italian, but also in English, French, Spanish, and Portuguese.

"What quarrel does _La Tempesta _have with the English?" Sebastian asked.

Imelda's eyes narrowed. "We lost almost all of our crew to them last year. Tornitore, our first mate. Guiseppe Gerardo, the second mate. Both the Aldos. Emiliano. That's why we've spent the past few months in the Mediterranean, gathering new recruits. Edan, Giovanni, Gin, Nino." Imelda rattled off a long list of names. "Practically everyone except for me and my sisters and Fiorenzo."

"Any reason in particular why you had to sail back across the Atlantic to find yourselves a crew?"

The woman shrugged and said, matter-of-factly, "Would _you_ sail on a cursed ship?"

* * *

"A cursed ship? Where'd you hear that, Seb? Drinking rum with the Acquatis?" There was scarcely any light belowdeck, save for the moonlight that filtered through from above. Antonio had only the vague impression of the other man's face, but he didn't need light to know what its expression would be—fine eyebrows arched, lower lip caught between his teeth, unkempt brown hair falling in front of his eyes as a blush rose to his cheeks.

"Imelda told me."

"Did she tell you the world was flat too? Come on, Seb, you're too old to believe in cursed pirate ships."

The words had barely left Antonio's mouth when there was a loud _bang_, followed by several softer _thuds._ He shot bolt upright, sending his hammock swinging violently and nearly pitching him out onto the floor before he realized it was only someone making his way belowdeck.

"Get out of my bloody hammock."

_Her way_, Antonio corrected himself.

Sebastian scrambled to vacate the hammock that apparently belonged solely to Sara, the middle Florentine sister, who had just finished her watch. Apparently he was taking too long, so she gave the netting a sharp tug and dumped him out onto the floor before scrambling up the rope ladder herself.

"Sorry," Sebastian muttered, picking himself up off the deck. "Everywhere else was taken."

"I've had this hammock for five years," Sara replied. "When you've been on this ship for that long, you've a right to your own bunk. Not that you two will make it anywhere close to five years here."

"Why's that?" grumbled Antonio. He was scanning the crew's quarters for another empty hammock, but all the ones he could see appeared to be already taken.

"The curse." She gave a pointed, end-of-discussion yawn and rolled over.

"Oh not that again—"

"What is this curse?"

"Half-wit men who insist on keeping Sara Acquati awake after she's been on watch for six hours die a horribly painful death. Now good night."

The deck creaked as Sebastian shifted from foot to foot, doubtlessly coming to the same conclusion Antonio had reached several moments ago. There were no empty hammocks left.

Antonio rolled over and stretched out the canvas hammock. "Well, come on, unless you want to spend the night rolling around on the deck."

"Thanks." Sebastian crawled nimbly into Antonio's hammock, and Antonio instinctively curled his body around that of the smaller man, draping his arm around his thin shoulders and pulling him close.

That old sense of protectiveness flared in Antonio's chest. He remembered how he had first met Sebastian, all those years ago when his father had brought him and Prospero to Naples on some diplomatic expedition, the purpose of which he had long ago forgotten. What he remembered was the sickly boy he had sat next to at the state dinner, the boy with the hollow cheeks and waxen skin who had pushed the roasted peacock morosely around his plate and kept his eyes downcast.

_I'm Antonio di Milan,_ Antonio had said, nudging the boy's foot and holding out his hand.

_S-Sebastian,_ the other boy had stammered, not looking up from his plate. _Alonso's brother._

_ Do you know how to fence? _Antonio, undeterred by Sebastian's timidity, had pressed on. _I'm a much better fencer than Prospero. All he ever wants to do is sit and read. I'm going to be the best fencer in Italy when I grow up, did you know that?_ Oh, how naïve he had been back then…

Sebastian had jerked his head back and forth and started to cough. _Father says it would be too—too strenuous. But Alonso knows how. I watch him sometimes. I don't think he's very good. You could probably beat him, easy._

_ Why is fencing too strenuous? _Nothing had ever been "too strenuous" for Antonio. Even back then, when he could have been no older than thirteen, his body was a mass of lean, tightly coiled muscles. His skin was always tanned several shades past its natural olive tones by long days spent out in the summer sun, his jet black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail to keep it out of his face.

Sebastian's fork had scraped across his plate then, pushing the peacock as far away from himself as he could. _I'm sick, _he'd answered simply.

_With what? _Antonio couldn't remember ever having been sick.

_Dunno. The doctors never say. They just tell Father that I'll get better if I rest. But I rest and I rest, and I think I'm just getting worse._

_ Fencing will make you better._

Antonio had slipped into Sebastian's rooms that night and tried to teach the other boy some swordsmanship with a pair of wooden practice blades he'd stolen from the armory. The exercise had ended with Sebastian propped up on the edge of his bed, wheezing painfully, and Antonio bending over him, frantically trying to figure out what to do. When Sebastian had finally stopped coughing, Antonio had apologized profusely and promised he would never try to give him a fencing lesson ever again.

To his surprise, Sebastian's pale eyes had narrowed and a frown had tugged at his gaunt cheeks. _No. I want to learn. I'll be more careful, just keep teaching me… Please?_

Antonio couldn't turn him down, and so Sebastian's lessons had continued. Every time the Duke of Milan had come to the Neapolitan court, Antonio had managed to find some reason to tag along. Then, while the Duke and the King discussed politics, Antonio had instructed Sebastian on how to fence, how to ride, how to hawk, even how to dance. At first their lessons had been halting, interspersed sporadically with periods where Sebastian would slump to the ground and gulp for air. But slowly, he grew stronger. A day came when he could hold his own in a swordfight without doubling over, when he and his little roan mare could chase Antonio and his black stallion through the forests, when he could swing the lure and his falcon would drop like a thunderbolt onto his wrist. And when they returned to the castle, they would dance the night away…

Antonio was jerked abruptly back to the present by the sound of Sebastian's snores and the creaking of the deck as someone walked toward their hammock. His hand went to the dagger at his waist as his arm tightened instinctively around Sebastian's shoulders.

"You want to know about the curse?" a voice whispered out of the darkness.

Antonio relaxed his hold on the dagger and breathed a small sigh of relief. It was only Imelda Acquati.

"No, I don't, but I have the distinct feeling I'm going to hear about it anyways," he hissed under his breath, trying not to wake Sebastian.

Imelda's smile flashed in the darkness. "Fifteen years ago, this ship was cursed by an Algerian witch named Sycorax—every time she weighs anchor, a man must die before she can dock again."

"So why don't you crew the ship with women?" Antonio shot back.

Imelda laughed. "Why do you think Araey enlisted me and my sisters, and now young Gin too? But he can't have every one of _La Tempesta_'s crew be a woman, else he'd be the only man left aboard and sure to die before he saw port again."

"Well, you needn't worry about us. We'll be leaving as soon as we reach the New World and hopping aboard the first ship headed back to Italy."

The Florentine woman shook her head sadly. "No you won't."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"You signed the articles, didn't you?"

Antonio nodded reluctantly, a leaden weight settling on his chest as he heard the words before they even left Imelda's mouth.

"Then you're bound to the ship forever. If you spend more than two nights away from it, you will die. Take it from me, I've seen my fair share of deserters struck down by lightning or drowned or turned into trees. If I were you, I'd treasure what you have while you still have it." And then Imelda was gone, vanished back into the blackness of the ship's hold.

Antonio had never believed in in magic or curses or ghost stories. Until Prospero's Island, that was. Until the banquet and the harpies and the thunder and the lightning and the dagger that he could not remember drawing from its sheath until he was pointing it towards his own heart.

Why couldn't the world go back to the way it was? Back to the days when life was simple and mundane? He didn't even really care that much whether or not he was Duke of Milan or Sebastian was King of Naples, so long as they were together and free and not on a cursed pirate ship…

"Antonio," Sebastian murmured in his sleep, his fingers tightening around Antonio's arm as he shifted and pulled it closer.

"Sebastian," Antonio replied, nuzzling the other man's hair. "I won't let the curse take you. I promise."

"And how do you plan on doing that?"

Antonio's eyes flew open and the dagger leapt back into his hand. Annette Acquati had snuck up on him without a sound and was leaning up against the side of this ship, a lantern in her crossed hands.

"Are you the three Fates or something?" Antonio hissed under his breath.

"To the extent of my knowledge, no. But we do know a little more than the average sailor, especially given that the lifespan of the average sailor on this ship is about a year." She hung the lamp on a post and crossed the few steps between the side of the ship and Antonio's hammock. "For example, we know how to lift the curse."

"Tell me."

"Tsk, tsk, Milan. Surely you learned better manners than that at court."

"Please."

The youngest of the Florentine sisters sighed. "Since you asked so nicely… The curse will be broken when fire dances in the sky, when the seas freeze and the mountains fall, when Ariel takes the wheel and sails us into tomorrow."

"In other words, never."

Annette Acquati shrugged carelessly. "That is what the witch said, and my sisters and the captain and I are the only ones left who remember it. Sleep well, Milan. Tomorrow, there will be a storm."

* * *

And a storm there was, with pitch black clouds and howling winds and hungry waves. Antonio wanted to insist that Sebastian stay belowdeck, but the other man stubbornly insisted on climbing into the rigging with the rest of the crew to hurriedly reef the sails at Captain Araey's command and then scramble back down and grab a bucket and start bailing out water.

As it turned out, Antonio need not have worried. Sycorax's curse took its toll in the form of the cabin boy, Nino, who was swept off the deck by a particularly vicious wave and swiftly lost to the swirling waters. A short time afterward, the storm abated and _La Tempesta_ sailed on, undeterred by her loss.

It was clear skies and smooth seas after that. Something in Imelda's concoction must have done the trick, for Antonio's seasickness abated before the week was out. He still wasn't happy about being forced into service aboard a pirate ship, but some of Sebastian's enthusiasm was starting to rub off on him by the time they finally sighted land.

"Land ho!" Sara called down from the crow's nest.

Sebastian grinned and swarmed up the rigging to the fighting top, tattered shirt billowing in the breeze and dagger clenched between his teeth, every inch the image of a pirate. Antonio followed suit with a touch more decorum but just as much excitement.

"The New World," Sebastian breathed, shading his eyes with one hand and staring at the grey smudge on the horizon. "Ha! Take that, Alonso!" he shouted triumphantly to the wind. " 'You'll never be anything, Sebastian. No one would mourn you, Sebastian. You're just a sickly second son, Sebastian.' Well look at me now, o brother of mine!"

"You're a pirate, Sebastian. I don't think that's exactly something Alonso would be proud of."

Sebastian grinned. "I know. He'd be mortified. And Father must be rolling in his grave. What do you think Prospero would say if he could see you now?"

"He probably wouldn't be surprised in the least," Antonio grunted. "He never thought I was good for much." Antonio had shown him though, hadn't he? He'd thrown a charge of sorcery in his brother's lap and raised half of Milan against him, and for twelve years _he_ had ruled as Duke. But then Fortune's wheel had turned, and here he was—powerless and penniless while his older brother languished in Milan again.

Sebastian put a hand on Antonio's shoulder. "We'll go back someday. Preferably with a large chest of gold, but I'd settle for silver."

Antonio opened his mouth to tell him about the curse, about how they could never go home, never leave the ship, never spend more than two nights ashore. But Sebastian's face was so bright and full of hope that he just couldn't do it. He would tell him of Sycorax's curse later, when they were safe in Nassau…

* * *

"This New World drink," Antonio slurred, leaning heavily on Sebastian's shoulder. "I like it." There was something else he was supposed to be telling Sebastian, something important, but the Nassau rum had turned his mind to water. Surely whatever it was could wait another night.

Sebastian sighed and draped the bigger man's arm around his shoulders. "Honestly, you're worse than Trinculo and Stephano. Come on, I paid the innkeeper for a room."

"Paid for… But where'd you find money?" Evidently Antonio wasn't drunk enough to forget that they had lost their purses somewhere in the Bay of Naples along with one dagger and most of their common sense.

"Nicked it," Sebastian grinned, steering Antonio toward the stairs. "It's a pirate's life for us, mate."

* * *

In a dim corner of the tavern sat three women in tattered greatcoats and tricorn hats, booted feet on the table and tankards in their hands.

"Antonio's drunk first night ashore. Pay up," Sara Acquati smirked.

Imelda sighed and fished a piece of eight from her pocket, then turned to Annette. "Told you they'd get a room. Pay up."

Annette tipped her hat to her sister and dropped a piece of eight in her hand, then turned to Sara. "What did I say? I'd lose my bet with Imelda. Pay up."

The final piece of eight changed hands, and the sisters were silent for a long moment.

"Hey Sara, I bet you this coin that Antonio'll get drunk again tomorrow."

"Done. Annette, I bet you this coin that Sebastian shoots a redcoat before we get to Port Royal."

"Done. Hey Imelda, I bet you this coin that one of them will die the next time we weigh anchor."

"Done. Although I'm really hoping you're wrong. I've kind of gotten attached to those two…"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Okay, so apparently I am actually going to keep updating this...**


	3. Those Were the Days, My Friend

"Rise and shine, my lovelies!" came the voice from the other side of the door, accompanied by the _thud_ of a pistol butt hammering on the wall. "We've work to do!"

Antonio groaned and rolled over in the lumpy, probably lice-infested bed as he massaged his aching temples. Why had he ever thought it was a good idea to down a whole keg of Nassau rum in one night?

"Give us a minute!" Sebastian hollered back, the noise making Antonio's headache flare up even more. "Sorry," Sebastian whispered to Antonio, but there was a touch of laughter in his voice. He was _enjoying_ this, wasn't he? The bastard. "Come on, 'Tonio."

"Hnngh," moaned Antonio, burying his face in a pillow and doing his best to ignore the creaking of the wooden floorboards as Sebastian tumbled out of bed. Maybe if he just closed his eyes they would go away and leave him to deal with his pounding headache on his own…

There was the sound of footfalls, the screech of a latch, and then Antonio felt someone's hand grab him by the scruff of his neck and lift him bodily from the bed.

"Sebastian, fetch me the bucket."

"Are you sure that's really necessary—"

"Just shut up and do it."

The next thing Antonio knew, he was being dragged over to a bucket of water and forced under the surface. He spluttered at the shock of the icy water on his face, coughing and gasping for air as the hand yanked his head back up. Under he went again, then back up, and under and up and under again until he could open his eyes without the sunlight setting his temples to drumming. He shook his dripping hair out of his face and whirled furiously to meet his antagonist.

Annette Acquati folded her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes. "I lost a bet with my sisters, so I'm on drunk duty this morning. God, I hate drunk duty."

"What was the bet?" Sebastian asked while Antonio contemplated the best way to murder the youngest Acquati sister.

"That we'd be heading straight for Port Royal this morning to deal with Commodore Durant and his scum." The Florentine woman spat derisively on the floor. "Cap'n says to make yourselves decent and get down to the docks. The New World's full of nasty surprises."

"Like what?" Sebastian yelled after her as she strode out of the room, tattered black greatcoat flapping behind her.

Annette paused for a moment, sizing the two of them up with her stormy gaze. "Like dead men who yet draw breath."

* * *

The entire crew of _La Tempesta_ and what must have been half the population of Nassau were gathered on the docks. At the center of their attention was a black-haired man with a brilliant purpling bruise around his right eye whose hands were tied behind his back with a length of thick rope.

"Traitor!" the crowd shrieked. "Murderer! British dog!" A few well-aimed stones found their mark, but the man did not flinch.

"Who's that?" Sebastian hissed out of the corner of his mouth as Captain Araey hauled the unfortunate prisoner to his feet.

Imelda, usually the most cheerful of the Acquati sisters, wore a scowl that nearly froze Sebastian's blood in his veins. "That was our second mate. Emiliano."

"This man," Araey bellowed, holding Emiliano's limp form up for all to see, "betrayed us. He sold my crew—his own crew—to the English scum. Because of him, half of my men are rotting in Davy Jones' Locker. He thought he could run, he thought he could hide, but nothing can escape the storm of justice for long!"

"What's he saying?" Antonio, looking quite a bit more disheveled than usual, whispered in Sebastian's ear.

Sebastian absentmindedly reached up to smooth out his collar and repeated the captain's words in Italian. "You really need to brush up on your English," he admonished, but Antonio just shrugged.

"Is there anyone who will speak out in this man's defense?" Captain Araey hollered, shaking Emiliano like a rag.

Silence fell over the crowd. They shifted from foot to foot and exchanged uncertain glances with their neighbors, but no one uttered a single word aloud.

It was Sara Acquati who finally stepped forwards. "I pass no judgment on his guilt," she declared, "but I would like to know this—how did he survive so long away from _La Tempesta_? It's been months since the Commodore ran us down."

Emiliano finally looked up, a sinister smile on his bruised face. "Wouldn't you like to know… Wouldn't you like to know how I bested Sycorax… I won't be telling _you_ though…"

Araey backhanded Emiliano across the face, and the former second mate spat out a mouthful of broken teeth. "You _will_ tell us."

"Your days are numbered, all of you," declaimed Emiliano, turning to address the uneasy crowd. "The Royal Navy is out in force, scouring the waves like bloodhounds. They will root us out and kill us all. Is it such a crime that I would rather live in their new world than die in your old one?"

"It is a crime to steer your ship straight into the path of the Commodore's vessel and sabotage every cannon on board so that your own crew is left defenseless. It is a crime to stand by and do nothing as good men die in fire and water and blood, all so that you might earn a few more shillings." Annette Acquati stepped out of the shadows, dressed all in black, with a big black bird perched on her shoulder.

"Guilty," croaked the raven as she stroked its glossy feathers. "Guilty."

"Tell us how you escaped the curse, and your death will be quick and painless," Araey said, holding his pistol to the side of Emiliano's head.

Emiliano snarled at the sight of Annette and her raven. "I would not tell you for all Pizarro's lost gold. You'll go down to Davy Jones' Locker, every last one of you, with your blood still bound to the timbers of that rotting ship and your souls screaming for mercy."

The dock was silent, save for the rhythmic lapping of the waves, as the crowd held its breath.

"What are they going to do to him?" Antonio hissed in Imelda's ear, but Sebastian did not hear her reply. His attention was on the woman in the flapping black coat with the long knife in her hand.

"I was there when the British cannons were roaring and the deck was splintering under our very feet. I was there when you jumped ship and swam for the _Chorister._ I heard you begging the Commodore for mercy in return for your services. I judge you guilty," she said.

"Guilty," croaked the raven. "Guilty."

Captain Araey lowered the pistol from Emiliano's temples and surveyed the waiting crowd. "I ask one last time—is there anyone here who doubts this man's guilt? Speak now, or forever hold your silence."

"The Commodore will find you, Cornelius Araey," Emiliano spat. "Him or Sycorax, it makes no difference. Either way, the sea will be your grave and you'll go down to the Locker with water in your lungs—"

A shot rang out across the docks, and Emiliano slumped to the deck, a crimson stain spreading across his chest. Araey shoved the lifeless body over the side of _La Tempesta _and into the harbor, an expression of thunderous rage on his weathered face.

"If I ever find out who fired that shot, I will make him suffer twice what that traitor's pain would have been."

The people on the docks shifted and muttered, but no one stepped forwards.

"There's nothing more for us to see here," Imelda said, tapping Sebastian and Antonio on the shoulder. "Come. The crew is meeting on the beach on the other side of the island. It's time to see just how good you are with that sword, Antonio."

Antonio turned to follow the Florentine woman, but Sebastian could not resist one last glance over his shoulder. Emiliano's body was bobbing gently out to sea, a thin red trail marking its slow progress across the waves.

* * *

"Well, you're a better fighter than I expected you'd be," Sara Acquati grunted, wiping the damp sand off of Antonio's sword and passing it back to him, hilt first. "You lasted a lot longer than I thought you would."

"He lasted ten minutes," Sebastian chuckled into his hand.

Imelda tied her hair back into a ponytail and bared her teeth in a feral smile. "That's about eight minutes longer than she expected. Your turn, Sebastian."

Antonio saw Sebastian reaching for his saber and placed himself squarely between the scrawny man and the pirate woman. "Don't you lay a finger on him. He's not as strong as we are, he's got weak lungs—"

A sharp _crack_ split the air as something whizzed by Antonio's face, narrowly missing scraping the skin off of his cheek and burying itself in the palm tree a few inches to Imelda's right.

"Try me," Sebastian challenged, cocking the pistol back again and stepping out from behind Antonio.

Sara grinned. "I like him, Imelda. He's got more spunk than the rest of the new lot put together. Who did you say you were back in Italy?"

"I didn't say anything about it," Sebastian shot back.

"Bet you that shell he was a street thief, Imelda."

"Done. Bet you the next button that falls off my coat that he was a noble."

The sisters shook hands and turned as one back to Antonio and Sebastian.

"Right," Imelda said, hands on her hips. "I guess you two might stand a chance against the British. The rest of you lot," she continued, rounding on the rest of the new crew members, "have work to do. Gin, that's a sword, not a pen. Hold onto it, for God's sake. Edan, don't slouch like that. Get that pistol away from the water, Giovanni!" The eldest of the Florentine sisters stalked down the ranks of scraggly pirates-in-training and sighed. "Cannon fodder, the lot of you. Right. Two people to a boat, everyone grab a sword and hop in."

There were six rowboats beached on the sand, each with a single pair of oars. Antonio grabbed the first one, flipped it over, and shoved it out into the sea before Sebastian could offer to help.

"You take the oars," Sebastian said as he jumped in and drew the cutlass that Antonio had picked out for him from Captain Araey's armory. "I've got this."

"What exactly are we doing?" Edan shouted from where he and Gin were floundering around in their rowboat, oars and sword flying in every direction.

Sara sighed as Imelda deftly steered their boat over to the youngsters'. "One of you will row, the other will fight. Hopefully this will teach you something about balance. The last team still in their boats wins. Got it?"

Ten heads nodded in unison.

"What do we win?" Sebastian asked with a smile.

"A day off from watch duty," Sara replied with a much more vicious grin. "Go."

Antonio braced his shoulders and hauled back on the oars, sending the little skiff skimming over the waves towards Giovanni and Alessandro. That pair seemed to have their vessel under the best control, but Antonio noticed that Alessandro was holding the sword too tightly and his hand was shaking.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Antonio hollered to Sebastian over the crashing waves.

"Never been better!" Sebastian stood with one foot on the gunwales and the other on the bottom of the boat, his cutlass held loosely in his hand, his thick dark hair blown back by the crisp sea breeze. Antonio watched in wonder as the other man bent his knees and shifted his weight by infinitesimal amounts as the deck shifted up and down under his feet. Grudgingly, he admitted to himself that Sebastian was good at this.

"Hard to starboard!" Sebastian commanded, and Antonio sank his oar into the water and swung the boat around sharply so that they narrowly avoided broadsiding Giovanni and Alessandro. Sebastian knocked Alessandro into the water with a few neat passes of his sword, and while Giovanni's attention was occupied with fishing his partner out of the brine, Sebastian reached over and knocked their oars out of the oarlocks. He tossed them as far away as he could and turned back to Antonio with a jaunty salute, motioning towards Edan and Gin's boat. "Ramming speed, my lord Antonio."

Antonio rolled his eyes and heaved on the oars, disregarding the floundering of Giovanni and Alessandro as they scrambled to regain control of their boat. "I think this tub falls quite a few knots short of ramming speed, my lord Sebastian."

"Just get me in striking range and I'll do the rest," Sebastian grinned.

And that he did, sweeping first Gin out of the rowboat, then Milo and Gianni from the other two boats in quick succession. Something had changed in the young Neapolitan prince in the months since their escape, something Antonio wasn't quite sure he was entirely at ease with yet. Sebastian had always had a mind of his own, but he had been cautious, willing to follow Antonio's lead and stay in the shadows. This New World Sebastian had left all that meekness behind. He was bold and carefree, he let his clothes get dirty and torn, he had that fell gleam in his eyes that Antonio was only used to seeing when he looked in the mirror himself. He was quick and ruthless and deadly, a pirate though to his very bones. It had been days since Antonio had last heard him cough—was it too much to hope that the fresh sea air had finally cured Sebastian of his long illness?

Antonio's thoughts were interrupted by Sebastian's shout and the sickening _crunch_ of a grappling hook sinking into the side of their boat and pulling them inexorably towards Sara and Imelda's skiff.

"No, leave it!" Sebastian commanded as Antonio reached out with a dagger to cut the line. He twirled the sword through his fingers in a move Antonio recognized as his own and swayed in time to the rocking of the waves as the Acquati sisters reeled them in. Antonio realized what he was going to do a second before it happened.

"Seb, don't—"

But it was too late, Sebastian was already hurling himself across the narrow strip of open water between their boats, sword flashing and thin white shirt rippling in the breeze.

"Sebastian, get back here!" Antonio yelled, but the boat lurched dangerously as he tried to lunge after the other man, and Antonio had to gulp down the growing double panic for both Sebastian's safety and the drowning water around him.

"Well met, Sebastian," Sara grinned as she swept up her sword to block his opening thrust. "I see you learned from Antonio," she added as he attacked with the same sequence of precisely calculated moves the Milanese man had used on the beach earlier.

The middle Florentine sister yawned and lazily parried Sebastian's blows. "A little boring, don't you think? Imelda, give us a challenge."

Antonio watched in horror as Imelda slashed through the rope that bound their two ships together and began to row further out to sea, zigzagging sharply back and forth in an attempt to throw Sebastian off balance.

But Sebastian held his own, bending his knees and rocking forwards onto the balls of his feet as the deck bounced and jerked under him, and never once did the point of his cutlass waver.

"This one's got sea legs," Sara commented as he feinted to the left and leapt around her to the right, striking at her feet.

"I've been practicing," Sebastian grinned.

"But you've been practicing by the rules," Sara retorted, and at a signal from her hand, Imelda whirled one of her oars out of the water to hit him square in the stomach and send him tumbling into the aquamarine waters.

"Sebastian!" Antonio yelled as the other man slipped beneath the waves. What if he was hurt? What if he cut himself on the cutlass? What if he drowned? Antonio waited with baited breath for Sebastian to reappear, but the seconds stretched out and the waters were still.

"If anything happens to him," he growled at the Acquati sisters, "I'll kill you."

Sara shrugged carelessly, brushing her hair out of her face. "He'll be fine."

Antonio was about to try knocking _her_ out of _her_ boat with his oar and asking her just how "fine" she felt when there was a loud _thump_ behind him. Antonio whirled around to find Sebastian lounging with his arms draped over the side of the rowboat, the widest grin he had ever seen plastered on his face.

"Carry my sword back to the beach, will you?" he asked, nodding at the dripping piece of metal in the bottom of the boat.

Antonio could only watch with his jaw hanging open as Sebastian let go of the boat and began swimming back to the beach with swift, sure strokes, white shirt clinging to his narrow chest and brown hair slicked down.

Imelda and Sara drew even with him, both women's eyes following the direction of his gaze.

"He has salt water in his blood," Sara commented.

"He wasn't supposed to," murmured Antonio. "He wasn't supposed to be a pirate. He was supposed to be a king."

"Well, now he'll be a pirate king," Imelda replied. "Oh, and Sara? You owe me that shell."

* * *

Imelda and Sara were nursing bottles of rum at their traditional table in the darkened back corner of The Bloody Theatre, empty plates littered with chicken bones and vegetable scraps and a few highly inedible rolls in front of them.

"What do you think would happen if we stuck this in one of the cannons?" Imelda mused, holding up a greyish specimen of what bread was most certainly not supposed to look like.

Sara rubbed a sore jaw and glared at the thing in distaste. "I think we could kill the shoddy cook that made it."

The tavern door slammed open and all conversation immediately ground to a halt as Annette Acquati stalked in, all covered in sand and dirt and blood. Her raven flew in after her, and no one dared suggest to her that the bird should stay outside.

"Rum," the raven croaked as Annette stripped off her filthy jacket and dropped into the chair next to Imelda.

"You heard the bird," she growled at the serving girl who was openly gawking at her. At Annette's low grumble, she disappeared behind the bar and returned in a flash with another bottle, which she deposited on the table as quickly as she could before scuttling away.

Sara's nose twitched in distaste. "You smell like hell."

"I smell like I just fished a corpse out of the bay, carried it across half the island, and then had to bury it," Annette retorted. "Nice shot, by the way, Imelda. Right through the heart."

"Did Araey say anything about when we leave for Port Royal?" Sara asked.

"Not for a few weeks. He wants to train up the new recruits first—"

"I'm going to skewer that raven and roast him one of these days, Annette, I swear I'll do it!" Imelda yelled, swatting the big black bird away from her plate.

Annette rolled her eyes. "He just wants your scraps, don't you, Medraut?" The raven croaked and rubbed his head against her hand.

"They're for Sara's dog."

"I think Daene has more than enough scraps."

A whimper from underneath the table seemed to speak out against Annette's opinion.

"Enough!" Sara snapped. "Daene can have my scraps, Medraut can have Imelda's. We have more important things to discuss right now." She glanced around the room and switched from Italian to a sibilant, hissing tongue. "Those two are the ones we've been waiting for. I can smell it."

Imelda pointedly ignored the raven and replied in the same archaic language. "The time is coming when Cornelius Araey will be forced to step down. Too many of his crew have died. If we don't call for a vote soon, someone else will."

"We must be careful though. There is a strange voice whispering on the wind." Annette's eyes narrowed. "I have reason to believe that the British have awakened something dangerous from the deeps."

Sara grinned, and for a moment in the flickering torchlight of the tavern it almost seemed as though her eyes gleamed a deep and bloody crimson. "More dangerous than us?"


	4. If I Don't Get Some Shelter

"Do you remember when I first became the Duke?" Antonio asked, rolling over in the narrow bed to face Sebastian.

Of course Sebastian still remembered vividly that fateful night of twelve years ago, that night when Antonio had told him of his plan to wrest the Dukedom of Milan away from his bookish older brother and seize it for himself.

Antonio had been scarcely eighteen years old, but his arms were strong and his mind was cunning and his tongue was silver. Sebastian was a year older, but he hung upon his friend's every word. Antonio was the first person who had ever treated Sebastian as simply _Sebastian_, not as Alonso's sickly younger brother, the useless spare heir of Naples. He was the one who had taught him to ride and fence and hunt. He had held him close when the coughing fits seized him and poured water over his forehead when his mind had wandered in fevered dreams. Antonio had done more to nurse him back to health than any doctor his father could find.

Sebastian loved him. He loved his easy smile and his gentle touch, his snickering laughter and his lithe muscles. He loved his awkward kindnesses and halting confessions. And, above all else, he loved that this was a side of himself that Antonio never showed to anyone else. With the rest of the court he was stiff and formal, a permanent grimace engraved on his face, his hair impeccably groomed, his hands clasped behind his back and his spine ramrod straight. But the second he and Sebastian were alone, that grim Antonio di Milano was gone. He would toss his jacket on the floor and unbutton his doublet, a sly smile creeping across his face as he lounged in one of Sebastian's chairs and let the tension drain from his shoulders.

_Seb, _Antonio had whispered that night, tapping on his window. Sebastian had lurched out of bed to find the Milanese boy hanging from the ivy a good twenty feet in the air and hurriedly pulled him into his room.

After giving him a thorough tongue-lashing about the stupidity of climbing around heavily guarded buildings at midnight on sketchy vines, Sebastian had finally stumbled into silence at the sound of Antonio's silvery laughter.

_I mean it, 'Tonio,_ he'd protested weakly as he felt his own shoulders starting to shake with that contagious laughter. _What if you fell?_

_I don't fall,_ Antonio had replied with a grin as he flopped down on Sebastian's bed, staring up at Sebastian from under his wild black hair. _But if I did, you would catch me._

_How am I supposed to catch you if I don't even know that you're out there, 'Tonio? _

But Antonio di Milano had never been the kind of man to trouble himself with minor details like that. Instead, he had grabbed Sebastian's wrists and pulled him down next to him so that they lay side by side, foreheads pressed together.

_What would you think of me if I were the Duke of Milan? _Antonio had whispered, something dark and dangerous gleaming in his rich brown eyes. It should have made Sebastian nervous to see that fevered light on his friend's face, but at that moment he was rather more focused on the lean, tanned hand resting on his arm.

_I think the robes of state would suit you well,_ he had murmured back. _Does Prospero intend to abdicate?_

Antonio was quiet for a long moment then. _Milan will sink with Prospero at the helm. All the revenues will go to expanding his bloody library, not the repairs the roads need or the munitions the army has been asking for or the new ships for the armada. There is a… a _group_ that would see Prospero removed from Milan and me put in his place._

_ A _coup d'état_._

_You're the French expert, not me, but yes, I think that's what you'd call it. _Antonio's eyes slid away, and he could not meet Sebastian's gaze.

Sebastian swallowed any last doubts he had and put his hand on Antonio's shoulder. _What is it, 'Tonio? What's wrong?_

_ I—I'm scared, Seb. I _want _to be the duke. I _want_ Prospero gone, and his daughter too. I shouldn't, though. He's my brother, it's his dukedom, I'm just a worthless second son. I shouldn't want to take away his birthright, but I do, oh I do. What's wrong with me, Seb, what's wrong with me?_

Sebastian had moved his hands up to cradle Antonio's head as he pressed their foreheads together. _You were born to be a great man, Antonio. There is nothing wrong with you._

For the first time, Sebastian saw doubt beginning to cloud Antonio's eyes. The other man was always so confident, so sure of himself, that for a moment Sebastian was at a loss. _He_ was supposed to be the weak one, the uncertain one, not Antonio.

And so he had done the only thing he could think to do and pressed his lips to Antonio's. At first the Milanese man had stiffened and an expression of shock had flickered across his face, but then his hands had reached up to tangle themselves in Sebastian's thick brown hair and Antonio was kissing him back as though the world was about to start falling down around them.

_You deserve Milan,_ Sebastian had breathed into Antonio's hair.

_And you deserve Naples,_ Antonio had replied, caressing his cheek that was just beginning to be spotted with stubble.

Sebastian had buried his head in Antonio's neck, breathing in the scent of wind and water and adventure that clung to him like a cloak. _I'll settle for Antonio…_

With a concentrated effort, Sebastian wrenched himself away from the past and threw himself back into the present. "Of course I remember that night," he whispered back. "Why?"

Antonio was silent for so long that Sebastian almost thought he had fallen asleep. Then, finally, he spoke again. "I'm sorry. I should have stayed in Naples. Alonso had offered to make me Captain of the Guard, but I begged him to help me oust Prospero instead."

"That was twelve years ago, 'Tonio. What does that have to do with anything now?"

"_I should have stayed,_" Antonio repeated, raw anguish in his voice. "I should have stayed with you in Naples, and damn Milan and Prospero."

Sebastian sighed and reached out to caress Antonio's thick black hair. "Are you trying to imply that none of this would have happened if you hadn't decided to toss Prospero to the waves? Because that's just stupid, 'Tonio—"

"But—"

Sebastian moved his fingers down to cover Antonio's mouth. "Shh. First of all, what's done is done and you can't change it, so it's no use feeling guilty over 'what ifs.' Second of all, I told you then and I'll tell you again, you were born to be a great man. Third of all, this is the best thing that's ever happened to us—"

Antonio seized Sebastian's hand and pulled it away from his mouth. "How is this the best thing that's ever happened to us, Seb? We're signed on board a cursed pirate ship for the rest of our lives, we can't spend more than two nights on land or we'll be fried by lightning, our captain is a merciless bastard, and those sisters are not human—you mark my words."

"But we're free, 'Tonio. No Alonso, no Prospero, no Gonzala and company. No Milan, no Naples, no duties and responsibilities. We're free and we're together."

"Yes, we're together until you're shot by a British officer or drowned at sea or hanged by some half-mad pirate captain," Antonio said, his voice rising to a shrill whisper. "I just want to keep you safe," he continued, quieter again, as he wrapped his arms around Sebastian's thin frame.

Sebastian buried his face in Antonio's chest and breathed in the sweet scent of sweat and steel that still clung to him. "You worry too much, Antonio."

"That's what I used to say to you. You've changed, Seb."

"Is that a bad thing?" Sebastian shot back.

"No, no, of course it's not," Antonio hurried to say. "It's just… I want to protect you, but I can't. Not when you're leaping around rowboats and dangling from the rigging and diving out in the bay. And I'm afraid that I'm going to lose you."

Sebastian laughed and snuggled closer to Antonio. "You're not going to lose me."

"And how can you be so sure of that?"

"Because it's awfully hard to lose someone right next to you, and I don't plan on leaving your side anytime soon."

* * *

The moon hung above the shadows of the palm trees, swollen and golden. Faint rays of light glimmered on the sand and danced across the waves as three dark shapes strode away from the torches of Nassau and into the blackness of the night. Their bare feet left shallow indentations in the sand that filled quickly with water. Behind them trailed the pawprints of a giant mastiff, and before them flitted the shadows of a big black bird and a swarm of small, iridescent creatures.

"So," the shortest of the figures said, whistling for the big dog who came loping through the surf to meet her. "Just what is it you think the British have raised from the deep?"

"Listen," Annette Acquati ordered, and the beach was silent save for the lapping of waves and the rustling of wings.

And then they heard it. No more than a whisper, swept up from the south on a warm Caribbean breeze. They felt it too, in the trembling particles of sand beneath their feet, and they smelled it in the subtle shift of the ocean's briny scent.

It was a keening, howling, soul-scouring thing that tingled on the edge of the sisters' senses. It was the faint imprint of something they had thought long-removed from this world. It was a hunting cry.

"You know, Annette," Sara sighed, "when you said the British had roused something old and nasty, I thought you meant something like a kraken. Kraken I can deal with. I actually rather like them."

"Probably because they mistake you for family—ow!" Imelda shrieked as her sister slapped her.

"This isn't a kraken, though." Annette dug her bare toes into the sand and bent down to stir the water with one hand, stroking the raven on her shoulder with the other. "Not ever a mer-creature or a siren."

"What is it, Annette?"

"It's a Perseid, and it's coming for us."

* * *

Commodore Jay Durant sat in the captain's quarters of the _HMS Chorister_, a detailed map of the Caribbean stretched out before him. He laced his fingers together as he studied the small armada of die-cast miniatures that covered the thick piece of vellum, and slowly, deliberately, he moved a ship from Port Royal towards the island of New Providence.

"Cornelius Araey is on this side of the Atlantic again," Commodore Durant said to the shadow in the doorway without looking up from the table.

"Pardon my asking, but how do you know that, sir? There have been no reports—"

"The turncoat Emiliano has been captured and killed. Araey is back with a new crew for _La Tempesta_."

"Are we going after them then, sir?"

"Patience, Lieutenant Duffy. Araey will come to us. And when he does…" A sinister grin split the corners of the commodore's mouth. "How is our new friend doing?"

Lieutenant Charles Duffy grimaced. "Quite honestly, sir, he's giving the men the creeps. He doesn't eat, he doesn't sleep, he just stands there at the rail…_smelling._ That's not Captain Barlow anymore, sir. That is… I don't rightly know what it is, sir, but it's making my flesh crawl even thinking about it."

The British lord picked up a small leaden figurine of a man in an old Greek helmet with sword bared and shield held high. "That is how we are going to get rid of the Acquati sisters, once and for all. If Sycorax's curse will not take them, we will just have to place matters into our own hands."

"Yes, sir. I understand, sir."

"Good." Commodore Durant placed the figurine delicately back on the table and rose to his feet, grabbing his hat and jacket from the back of the chair. "Assemble the crew, Lieutenant. There are matters I need to discuss with them. And send me Captain Barlow. I will not have my men living in fear of the champion they helped create."

Duffy snapped off a salute and turned on his heel, exiting the captain's quarters so quickly that he almost missed Durant's parting remark.

"And if Theo Barlow fails in his mission, Lieutenant, I will not hesitate to raise a score of Perseids. I _will_ have my victory, whatever the cost."

* * *

Sebastian awoke the next morning with a throbbing headache that he didn't think was in any way associated with what he'd been drinking the night before. It was not that Sebastian thought he was immune to hangovers, it was rather that in his experience they tended to not be coupled with a burning forehead and aching bones. He extricated himself as gently as he could from the tangle of limbs and blankets that was Antonio and lurched across the room, making it to the bucket in the corner just in time to empty the contents of his stomach into it.

He wanted to curse and rage and spit at the utter unfairness of it all. One day he was perfectly healthy, leaping from rowboat to rowboat with a cutlass in his hand and pistol on each hip, the next he was curled up on the floor of a tavern pouring everything he had eaten last night into a battered pot as shivers wracked his body. He wanted to show his anger, but he didn't have anywhere near enough energy. It took enough of his strength just to hold his head out of his own vomit.

Eventually, once his stomach was emptied, the pangs of nausea subsided. Sebastian set the bucket to one side, too weak to find somewhere to dump it, and slumped up against the wall. His head lolled to the side and his eyes fluttered closed as he felt himself slipping deeper and deeper into the fever's grasp…

"Sebastian! Sebastian!"

Sebastian dragged his consciousness back up from the depths and gathered enough strength to raise an eyelid. He didn't know how much time had passed since he had fallen asleep—"passed out" might have been a more accurate description—but it was long enough for Antonio to wake up and find him.

"Seb, what happened?" Antonio asked, his voice surprisingly gentle as he raised his sleeve to wipe away the trail of crusted vomit at the corner of Sebastian's mouth.

"'M sorry, 'Tonio," Sebastian slurred. He couldn't be sick again, he couldn't, this was the New World, everything had been going so well…

"Shh, it's okay," Antonio whispered, and Sebastian felt the other man's arms wrap around him as he lifted his slight frame and carried him over to the bed, where he fell back limply among the threadbare blankets and promptly lost consciousness again.

He came to some time later and faintly registered the outlines of several people standing over him.

"Take him to the ship," one of the shadow-women said.

"What?! He needs a proper bed to rest in, and medicine, and—" the voice that he thought was Antonio was abruptly cut off by another female voice.

"He needs to be back aboard _La Tempesta _by the time the sun sets today, or he will die. So will you, for that matter, if you do not return. Better to move him now than this afternoon when he has worsened."

"_When_ he has worsened?"

"I have seen sailors fresh from Europe catch all kinds of tropical diseases, Antonio. He will get worse before he gets better, but he will get better, trust me. Now take him to the ship."

Sebastian felt himself cradled in Antonio's arms once again, and the next thing he knew he was rocking gently back and forth in one of _La Tempesta_'s hammocks as the lanterns' shadows chased each other across the deck.

A hand was smoothing his sweat-soaked hair, and when his eyes flickered open, strong arms helped prop him up and forced a cup of steaming liquid between his teeth.

"The Acquatis say it will help," Antonio murmured as Sebastian struggled to swallow. "They say you'll be better soon."

Sebastian tried to speak, but his mouth would not obey him, so instead he raised his hand slightly to brush Antonio's to let him know that he had heard him.

"I won't leave until you're better, I promise."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Sebastian's mouth as he sank into sleep again.

He was hot. He was so hot he was burning up from the inside out. His body was a sheet of flame—he was cold. His blood had turned to ice in his veins—he was hot. He could scarcely breathe for the stifling heat—he was cold. He was so cold he feared he would never be warm again…

Shivers wracked his thin body, sending him into convulsive fits that ended with him retching up bile more often than not. He could not raise his head, he could barely open his eyes, he could not even twitch his fingers to let Antonio know that he heard his singing and his sobbing and his whispered promises.

His mind wandered, straying through the all-too-familiar landscapes of his fever dreams. He was drenched to the bone, drowning in a great salt sea as his arms flailed, struggling to propel him towards the speck of land so far in the distance. A black shadow passed overhead, a raven cawing mockingly at him, and something howled mournfully in the distance. A swarm of iridescent flashes swirled around his head, momentarily driving him underwater.

When he rose to the surface again, the world tilted and he was on dry land again, lost in a tangle of dense forest. From somewhere above the thick green canopy came the faint strains of haunting music blown on some spectral pipes. He tried to climb one of the trees to find the source of the music, but his hands kept slipping on the bark and he couldn't get more than a few feet off the ground. And then amber eyes flashed in the darkness of the undergrowth and something growled a deep, primeval growl. Sebastian didn't stay to see what it was but turned and ran into the forest instead.

He ran and ran and ran, and then he wasn't in the forest anymore and all the trees had turned into damp stone walls. But he kept running, even though his breathing was ragged and strained, until he slammed headfirst into something and fell flat on the floor. When he rolled over, he found that he was staring up into his brother's face and his old pitying smile.

"Sebastian," Alonso said, shaking his head sadly. "You know you shouldn't be here."

"I'm not sick though," Sebastian protested. "I'm fine!"

Alonso's expression changed from pity to anger in a heartbeat. "No, Sebastian, I mean _you shouldn't be here_. If it weren't for you, Mamma would still be alive. So would Papa. You killed our parents."

"I didn't—" cried Sebastian, but Alonso planted his foot on his chest and pushed him down into the stone.

"You did," Alonso hissed. "Or don't you remember? Our mother died bringing you into this wretched world. Our father died pining away to nothing for her. You tried to kill me too, didn't you? You and that turncoat Antonio. I helped him take Milan, but what did he ever do for me? He denied me my taxes, he stole my troops, he commandeered my ships. I should have killed him when I had the chance—"

Sebastian scrabbled for the dagger in his boot, stabbed Alonso in the leg, shook his brother off, lunged to his feet, and wrapped his thin fingers around Alonso's neck.

"Don't you touch him—"

But then it wasn't Alonso's neck between his fingers, it was Antonio's, and Sebastian was staggering backwards with a horrified gasp.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"

A shadow came out of the stonework then, a whirling hurricane that blew out all the torches and plunged the hallway into darkness before coalescing into the form of Prospero, Antonio's older brother.

"Traitor!" Prospero shrieked, drawing a sickly-looking, black-bladed dagger. "Murderer!" he screamed as he launched himself at his brother.

Sebastian didn't have time to think, he just threw himself between Prospero and Antonio. He gasped and choked as the dagger buried itself up to its hilt in his chest, and then he was falling again and the water was closing over his head as he spiraled down and down and down, fading sight staring up at the trailing bubbles that led back to the surface.

He opened his eyes to dim moonlight and rocking waves, unsure whether or not he was still dreaming until he tried to move and found that he was as weak as a newborn babe. Only in the waking world was he ever so feeble.

"Seb," Antonio said, gently lifting the cold cloth from his forehead. "Seb, are you back?"

"I think so," Sebastian croaked as Antonio held a cup of barley water to his lips. "Fever feels like it broke. How long's it been?"

"Four days. I thought—" Antonio started to say something before he caught himself. "Never mind what I thought. The Acquatis brewed some kind of tea for you. I think it helped a lot."

"What's been happening? When does Captain Araey mean to sail?"

Antonio scowled. "I tried to talk him into waiting longer, but he insists that we weigh anchor in two days. You're to stay below deck and rest."

"I can help—"

"No, Sebastian!" Antonio barked, putting a firm hand on his shoulder and pushing him back down into the hammock as he tried to rise. "You just spent four days with a raging fever blabbering nonsense. You need to rest."

"But I feel—"

Antonio sighed and turned to speak to the figure in the shadows. "Imelda, please talk some sense into him."

"Certainly," Imelda said. "But first, Sebastian, you must want something else to drink. Fevers take a lot out of you."

He took the tin cup she offered him, but he hadn't had more than a few sips before he felt his eyelids start to droop, and a peaceful, mercifully dreamless, sleep stole over him.


	5. Weep Not For Roads Untraveled

"The British are heading for Nassau," Imelda stated, leaning against the gunwale of _La Tempesta_ at Captain Araey's side and watching as the moonlight skipped across the waves. "They'll be here in two days' time. Five ships, led by Durant and the _Chorister_. So far he's only raised one Perseid, but who's to say he won't decide to hex up a few more for good measure?"

Araey's hand drifted towards the jeweled saber's hilt at his hip, a grim smile on his lips. "Can you and your sisters handle the Perseid?"

Imelda scoffed. "Of course."

"Good. You three take care of him, and leave Durant to me. The Commodore and I have a score to settle."

"As do we with his crew," Imelda replied. And, under her breath, "As do we with you."

"We sail tomorrow," announced Captain Araey, showing no sign that he had heard her mutinous mutterings. "They won't corner us in port. Make sure everyone's ready to leave by then. Anyone who's not ready gets left behind for Sycorax to take."

"Understood. They'll be ready." Imelda turned sharply on her heel and left the captain staring out over the water. Antonio wouldn't be happy about this, but it was in everyone's best interests not to let Commodore Durant corner them in Nassau. Better to take to the high seas, where at least they stood a fighting chance against the British.

A raven cawed high overhead, and Imelda looked up to find Annette perched in the crow's nest.

Imelda tapped on the mainmast and sent a message running up to her sister through the vibrations. _What are you doing up there?_

_ Watching,_ came the answering vibration. _The sky is clear. Come on up_.

Imelda grinned and laid her hand against the mast. Her skin melded into the wood like a tree frog's fingers to a trunk, and soon she was climbing straight up the main mast, bypassing the rigging and the ladders entirely. The mast showed no signs of her passage when she lifted her fingers, nor did she show any signs of strain as she fairly flew up to the crow's nest.

"Boo," she said, vaulting over the low railing next to Annette.

"Ooh, I'm terrified," Annette shot back, rolling her eyes. She stared down at the specks crawling across the deck below, and her eyes narrowed. "Soon this ship will be ours, as it should be."

"The _sea_ will be ours," Imelda corrected her. "We will take back what was stolen from us."

"They will pay," spat the youngest Acquati sister. "They will pay a hundred times." Her raven _quorr_ed sinisterly in agreement and ruffled his feathers, beady eyes glimmering in the moonlight.

Imelda hummed a low note and a swarm of iridescent birds with wings that flashed so quickly they could scarcely be seen rose up around her shoulders like a mantle. "We will be queens again. Queens with crowns of gold and silver and gemstones instead of driftwood and iron and seaweed."

Annette looked askance and the glittering swarm of needle-beaked hummingbirds, collectively referred to as the Eduardo. "We just have a Perseid to kill, a captain to mutiny on, and a Neapolitan exile to save."

"I thought you didn't believe Sebastian was the one," Imelda jibed.

Her sister sighed and rolled her eyes. "I've got to believe it, don't I? Else what hope do we have? It has to be him. _Il re del mare_. _Rex maris_. The High King of the Sea. The one who can break Sycorax's curse and face down Setebos and free us all."

"I thought you said he was weak, that he'd never make it."

"He is weak, but I do not think he is doomed to remain that way." Annette shook her head, long coppery hair billowing free in the night breeze. "I watched your little game on the beach—through Medraut's eyes, that is. He has…a certain potential. If one of us trains him."

"We'll have to let him choose though," Imelda said. "We can't force him. We have to make sure he thinks it was his idea all along, or he'll balk. And then there's Antonio…"

From far away came a low rumble of thunder, and the sisters watched as lightning forked down along the southern horizon to meet the ocean below.

Annette bared her teeth to scent the wind and taste the tidings it brought. "I do not think Antonio will be a problem for much longer."

"I do not think the British will be making very good time for Nassau," Imelda added, gesturing to the storm. "Araey was going to sail tomorrow, but I might be able to persuade him to wait now."

Lighting flickered around Annette's fingertips as she pushed up her sleeves and stretched her arms to the sky. "Shall we make their time a little worse?" she grinned. "It's been a long time since I've been able to call lightning down, and my fingers are starting to itch."

Imelda gasped in delight and clapped her hands gleefully. "It's been years since you could do that!"

"Did I not tell you? Our curse is starting to lift."

* * *

"This is not a natural storm, sir!" Lieutenant Duffy cried, clinging to the mast as towering waves crashed over the deck of the _Chorister _and watching helplessly as his men were swept into the frothing sea.

Commodore Durant was livid with rage as he shrieked commands to the orderlies and wrenched the wheel out of the boson's splintered hands. "I know bloody well whose wind this is, Lieutenant!" he spat, spinning the ship to the south. "But it's been years since I've had to face it! They're coming back into their powers, somehow!"

"I thought you said that the witch and her devil had stripped them of their powers!" Duffy's hand slipped from the mast and he made a mad dive for a coil of rope that he looped around his waist and anchored to one of the cannons.

Durant spat rainwater out of his mouth and raised his eyes to glare balefully at the furious horizon, as though his anger alone could calm the clouds. "She had! For fifteen years they were mortal."

"_Rex maris._"

Duffy and Durant both paused in their struggles to stare at the creature who had once been Captain Theo Barlow. Of all the men on board the _Chorister_, the Perseid was the only one who seemed completely unaffected by the storm. He stood in the center of the deck, legs spread apart, feet planted firmly, and he did not move as the ship rolled and bucked around him.

"What did you say?" growled Commodore Durant.

"_Rex maris. _The King of the Sea. He is aboard _La Tempesta._ I can smell him."

"Great," Duffy muttered to himself as his feet were knocked out from under him and he went rolling across the deck, the rope around his waist the only thing that prevented him from sailing overboard. "Just what we needed. Cornelius Araey as the bloody pirate king."

The man who had been Theo Barlow whipped his head around to glare at the lieutenant. "No. Not Araey. Another. He smells of saltwater and sunlight..." The Perseid paused, taking a deep breath as the waves crashed around him. "And sickness," he finished, a sinister smile splitting his face.

"Lieutenant Duffy!" Durant snapped as the sailor clung to the cannon to draw himself back up to his feet. "You will be responsible for finding this would-be pirate king when we take _La Tempesta._"

"Yes sir!" Duffy tried to snap a salute, but he slipped as the deck lurched under him and just ended up falling flat on his face again.

The winds suddenly doubled in strength, and the mainmast gave an ominous creak. Those sailors who could hurried to get out of its way, glancing over their shoulders with wide eyes as they tried to gauge which way the massive piece of wood would fall. About five had guessed wrong, as they learned in the seconds before they were crushed when the mainmast came crashing down, dragging sails and rigging with it. The blow sent shockwaves trembling through the deck, and Duffy sunk to his knees and curled up into a ball next to his cannon as the mast slid into the frothing waves with a massive splintering of wood.

Why had he ever gone into the Navy? He could have been safe at home in Britain, sitting in his father's manor house surrounded by fawning servants and four solid walls. Instead he was about to be drowned hunting pirates, and all because he had thought it would be fun to go on an adventure with the famous Commodore Jay Durant.

"Duffy!" Durant yelled again, intruding into the lieutenant's darkening thoughts. "You have my permission to shoot the bastard on sight."

* * *

Antonio glanced down at Sebastian's sleeping from. He looked so small, so fragile lying there, gaunt from his illness and still wheezing slightly as he breathed. But there was power there too, hidden in the delicate lines of his face and the growing muscles of his wiry arms. Thunder boomed in the distance as Antonio reached out to caress Sebastian's hair. The other man made a small sound and twitched slightly in his sleep, turning into Antonio's hand.

"You could have been a king," Antonio whispered. "And I would have stood at your side, come what may. I would have given you the crown of Naples and all the jewels of Milan…"

"I'd've shared my throne with you," Sebastian murmured sleepily, half-opening his brilliant green eyes.

"Is that all you'd have shared?" Antonio couldn't resist asking, arching one eyebrow.

Sebastian smiled and aimed a half-hearted punch at Antonio's shoulder, but Antonio caught his hand instead and raised it to his lips, kissing his fingers gently. "We'd have made quite the pair."

"Mmm," Sebastian agreed. "I think we're better off here though. A bedridden king isn't much use."

"Do you want to go up on deck?" Now that Antonio's initial panic at finding Sebastian shivering in his own vomit had passed, he had finally been able to sit back and take a moment to process what was right before his eyes. This was the first time that Sebastian had been sick in months. True, he'd had a minor cold in the dungeons of Naples before they'd come to the New World, but the last time he'd been seriously ill was… was… was before they'd left for Tunis. And ever since then, they'd been on and off ships, first to Tunis, then to Prospero's Island, then to Naples, and finally to Nassau. Perhaps Sebastian was right, and something in the fresh air _was _helping him ward off his perpetual illnesses.

Sebastian started trying to get out of the hammock, but before he could move more than a few inches, Antonio scooped his thin frame up in his arms and began to carry him up into the moonlight. Sebastian started to protest, then stopped as he nestled his head close to Antonio's heart.

A gentle mist cloaked the ship when Antonio nudged open the door and carried Sebastian out on deck. Far off in the distance rumbled peal after peal of thunder, but the storm didn't appear to be coming any closer, so Antonio set Sebastian down on a coil of rope, draped a blanket around his shivering shoulders, and sat down next to him. He watched in fascination as Sebastian took in deep breaths of the salty sea air and the wheezing faded from his lungs. If only he had known that this could cure Sebastian back when they were children…

Those had been rough years. Antonio still remembered the first time he had seen Sebastian seriously ill like something out of a nightmare. It was the winter after he had first met the young Neapolitan prince, and Antonio had begged his father on bended knee to let him accompany the Milanese party that the king had summoned to his Christmas feast. He'd shown up at court in a crimson velvet doublet and black boots polished until they shone with a blinding brilliance, fighting to keep his spirited black stallion in his proper place behind Prospero's docile little grey palfrey. The first thing he had done as soon as his horse was stabled was to dig a small parcel out of his saddlebags and tear off for the castle, asking excitedly after Sebastian's whereabouts.

But no one would tell him where the prince was. They just looked at each other sadly and shook their heads, the Christmas cheer slowly draining from their faces. With a growing fear in his heart that something terrible had happened to his new friend, Antonio had clutched the parcel to his chest and dashed up the stairs to Sebastian's chambers.

That part of the castle was eerily silent. Scarcely anyone was in the corridors, and those who were kept their heads down and would not meet Antonio's gaze. The sickly sweet scent of death was in the air as Antonio reached out a hand to open Sebastian's door and barge into his room.

Before he could turn the knob, bony fingers closed around his wrist, and Antonio found himself staring up into the face of the king's chief physician. He had met the man before on several occasions, but he had never seen him so pale, as though all the color had been bled from his skin. His eyes were sunken, his mouth tugged down into a frown, despair etched in the lines across his brow.

_Antonio,_ the physician had said gently. _He's… he's very sick. You might not want to go in there—_

But Antonio, seized by a sudden panic that he would find his new friend dead already, had shaken off his arm and slipped through his door, slamming it shut and locking it behind him. When he looked up at the figure on the bed, though, he almost turned around and fled the room.

Sebastian looked more like a corpse than a boy. His breathing was so slow and shallow that his chest barely moved. His cheeks were sunken in, his eyes closed, his skin paler than marble and transparent enough that Antonio could see nearly every vein running beneath it. The young prince lay straight in bed, his head propped up on a small pillow, his arms folded over his chest as though he were already dead.

_Sebastian?_ Antonio had asked pleadingly, deaf to the sound of the chief physician jiggling the lock of the door behind him and calling softly for him to open it and let him in. _Seb? I—I brought you a Christmas present, Seb._ Antonio laid the bundle down at the still form's feet and perched lightly on the side of the bed, careful not to disturb him.

Sebastian did not respond. Antonio watched his thin chest like a hawk, his heart pounding against his ribs every time he thought Sebastian's chest would fail to rise. He was so small, so small and still and fragile… And there was nothing Antonio could do other than sit by his side. A dark cloud of helplessness descended over him as he stared at his sickly friend—his _dying _friend.

_I have tried every cure I know_, the physician had said, making Antonio jump when he appeared at his side. He had been so focused on Sebastian's porcelain face that he hadn't even noticed that the balding doctor whose name he could never remember had found another way into the room.

_Then try something else,_ Antonio growled, blinking hard to keep the tears from his eyes.

The physician was silent for a moment, then he shook his head sadly. _Pray for a Christmas miracle. I'll give you some time alone with him—call me in if anything changes._

Antonio did not notice the physician leaving. He stared down at Sebastian's face, remembering the feel of his wavy brown hair under his fingers, the flash in his eyes when Antonio praised him in fencing, the quirky smile that tugged at his lips when he whispered a joke to Antonio across the dinner table. It couldn't all be gone so quickly. There had to be _something_ he could do.

_Please, God,_ Antonio had prayed, but the room was silent and Sebastian's breathing came in ragged stops and starts and Antonio knew deep in his heart that no one was listening. That was when he decided that he would just have to start making his own miracles.

_I'll be back, Seb,_ Antonio had whispered, smoothing the older boy's spiky hair flat against his head, the ruffling it back up again when he saw how much more like a corpse it made him look. _Don't you leave until I'm back._

Out the window he went and down the ivy vines, sneaking past the grim physician and the gay courtiers who were resolutely ignoring the death of their youngest prince. _He was only a spare heir, and he had always been sickly,_ they would say. _It was only a matter of time_.

There had to be someone in Naples who could help him. There were more physicians somewhere, maybe one had just gotten off one of the ships from Arabia at the docks who knew more than the king's physician did… Antonio ran through the streets of Naples, slipping nimbly between the gathering Christmas crowds as he sprinted for the docks.

_You won't find what you're looking for, Antonio di Milano,_ called a voice from one of the small shops lining the alley. _Not down there._

Antonio had stopped and whirled around, searching for the source of the voice and finally locating it in a woman sitting behind a stall stocked full of herbs, her hair wrapped up in a scarf and her brilliant green eyes flashing in the winter sun.

_How do you know what I'm looking for? _he had challenged her. _And how do you know who I am?_

_You seek to save the life of the young prince. He is dying between the walls of stone. _The woman pulled a few leaves off of a plant and began to grind them to a fine powder with a mortar and pestle. _I can help you._

_ How?_ Antonio had asked.

_There will be a price,_ she had replied, pulling a bottle out from beneath the counter and pouring a few drops of liquid into the crushed leaves.

_I'll pay it,_ he had said dismissively.

_You do not even ask the price?_

_ I will pay it, whatever it is, so long as he lives,_ Antonio had snapped back. He felt, somewhere deep inside, that Sebastian's time was running out as he stood there bickering with the hedge witch.

The woman poured the thick green mixture into a small glass vial and passed it to him with a knowing smile. _Give him this to drink. What stone took, the sea will cure. But beware the sea, Antonio di Milano. The crashing waves will be the sound of your doom, the floating kelp your shroud, the barren ocean floor your grave. This is the price you will pay if you choose to save him._

_ So be it, _Antonio had said, snatching the vial from her hand and running back to the castle as fast as his feet would carry him. Back up the vines he had gone, bypassing the physician and sneaking back into Sebastian's chambers.

The other boy had not changed from when Antonio had left. If anything, he had only grown paler and his lips had taken on a slightly bluish tinge. Antonio ripped the cork off of the vial and gently lifted Sebastian's head, trickling a few drops of the salty-smelling concoction onto his tongue and watching his throat as he swallowed it. It took the better part of an hour, but Antonio got the entire bottle into him in little drips and drabs. By the time he laid Sebastian down again, he had already started to notice a change. That terrifying bluish tinge was gone from his lips, a touch of color had returned to his cheeks, his breathing was slightly more regular…

And then his eyes had opened.

_'Tonio? _he'd mouthed, still too weak to speak.

And Antonio had hidden the vial in the pocket of his crimson doublet and called in the physician, and the physician had declared that it was a Christmas miracle, and Antonio had never told anyone about the elixir and the hedge witch and the hair in the scarf that he could have sworn had moved and twitched and hissed.

"What are you thinking about?" Sebastian asked sleepily, wrenching Antonio back to the present.

Antonio opened his mouth to lie and caught himself before he could speak. He could spin a cocoon of lies around the whole world, except for Sebastian. He had to tell him the truth… but not necessarily all of it. "Just something someone told me in Naples once."

"Tell me," Sebastian insisted, staring up into Antonio's face, and Antonio felt the words drip unwillingly from his mouth.

"There was a hedge witch who used to set up shop down by the docks from time to time—do you remember her?"

Sebastian nodded and snuggled closer to Antonio as a chill evening breeze blew in off the sea. "She always wore her hair up in a scarf. Sometimes I almost thought I saw it move."

"She told me I would die at sea."

"She told me I would be king of a country even greater than Italy, and look where I am," Sebastian murmured. "Pay her no heed."

Antonio was tempted to ask Sebastian what he remembered of that long-ago Christmas. Did he remember the miracle that had brought him back from the brink of death? Did he remember what the witch's elixir had tasted like, and had he known where it came from? Did he remember the saber Antonio had given him as a holiday present? But instead he held his peace and simply wrapped his arms around Sebastian and waited until the gaunt man drifted off to sleep.

"You never told him that you traded your life for his, did you?" Imelda asked, materializing out of the darkness like a ghost.

Antonio double checked to make sure that Sebastian was indeed asleep and whispered quickly to her, "How do you know that?"

The eldest of the Florentine sisters smiled secretly. "I know many things, Antonio di Milano. _Waves will be the drums of your doom and the fanfare of his reign, kelp your shroud and kelp his mantle, the ocean your grave but his kingdom forever more. _That is the bargain you made with my mother."


	6. On The Morning Tide

Thanks to the storm of the night before, Imelda managed to delay the sailing of _La Tempesta_ for another day while Sebastian regained his strength. Judging by Antonio's stunned reaction to the fact that Sebastian was already up and walking around, she determined that the other man normally did not recover quite so quickly from an illness.

She had not made the connection between Antonio and the Milanese boy her mother had spoken of until her conversation with Annette. Something she had said had sparked an old memory of sitting around a table covered in herbs and snakeskins, listening intently as her mother had declaimed the story of _rex maris_ and paused for a moment to tell her daughters that she had saved the pirate king's life that day. He was dying away from the sea, and so she had given his lover-to-be a piece of his lost life to cure him with.

_ But what price did his lover pay? _Imelda had asked. _There's always a price. There has to be._

_A life for a life, Imelda. You know the law as well as I do,_ their mother had replied. _But the debt will be many years in the making. The little boy from Milan must grow first, into a traitor and a duke and an exile. And he must bring the king to the sea before the sea claims him. _

Imelda had thought her mother was just telling a story, as she sometimes did while they worked grinding poultices over the table. It wasn't until much later, when she and her sisters had already taken to the waters, when she began to wonder if her mother had been telling the truth. And then they had run afoul of Sycorax and she just had to pray that her mother had been right and she would find the sea king one day…

"So, how long before we weigh anchor again once we sail?"

Imelda jumped when Sebastian spoke at her shoulder, and she argued with herself for a long moment over whether or not she should tell him of his destiny. Ultimately, she decided against it. It was was not her place to do so.

"One death," Imelda replied sourly instead.

"What's Captain Araey's grief with this Commodore Durant about?"

"It's a long story," Imelda said, rolling her eyes. "Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"I've got nothing better to do at the moment," countered Sebastian.

Imelda indicated that Sebastian should take a seat on the ropes and continued to scan the horizon for a sight of the _Chorister._ "Araey is from England, originally," she began. "As if you couldn't tell by that atrocious accent of his. He and Durant grew up together and joined the Royal Navy at the same time. I've heard that they were good friends, but then, one day, something happened between them. Araey found a stack of signed and sealed death warrants for essentially the entire population of New Providence. He asked Durant about them, and Durant said that the king had given then his explicit permission to eradicate the entire pirate brethren and raze Nassau to the ground. He devised a plan to draw the pirates out of the harbor and into the open sea and ordered Cornelius Araey to take his ship, _Tyger's Heart_, into the bay and open fire on the port of Nassau. Araey had friends in Nassau though—there are always those who accuse him of smuggling, even in his younger days when he was still in the Navy—and he refused. Durant insisted, Araey fired a warning shot past Durant's ear. Araey ripped the medals off his jacket, placed them on Durant's table, and walked out of the captain's quarters. Then Araey took _Tyger's Heart_ and those crew members who were loyal to him and sailed for Nassau to warn his friends there, but Durant gave chase and sent _Tyger's Heart_ to the bottom of the sea just outside the harbor breakers. Araey was the only one who made it off the ship alive—the rest of them went down to the Locker. But he gave Nassau the warning it needed, and the pirate brethren was ready to fight off the Royal Navy."

"So Araey turned pirate and Durant has been chasing him ever since," Sebastian said.

"Rather the other way around, more often than not," Imelda corrected. "Araey only betrayed Durant's trust. Durant sank Araey's ship and murdered his crew—several times, I might add. But yes, it's been war between them for quite some time now." Imelda surveyed the crew scampering around _La Tempesta_'s deck and felt a tear prick at her eye. In all likelihood, they would be dead before the year was out. And then it would be just her and Annette and Sara and Araey and a few lucky stragglers like Fiorenzo left behind to con a new crew into sailing the cursed sister of _Tyger's Heart_.

Imelda had seen the sketches of Captain Araey's first beloved ship. She knew that _La Tempesta_ was nearly the spitting image of _Tyger's Heart_, but with black sails instead of white and a black flag emblazoned with a broken white net instead of the bright blue and red of the Union Jack. She also knew that there was one small lie she had told Sebastian—_Tyger's Heart _was not at the bottom of the ocean, at least not anymore. She had seen it out on the high seas, _La Tempesta'_s ghostly sister, white sails billowing in the breeze and dark blue hull skimming effortlessly over the water.

She had also seen who now stood at her helm.

* * *

Commodore Durant's quarters were a mess of shattered glass, shredded paper, and spilled ink. The officer straightened his powdered wig, swept the whole mess off his desk with an angry growl, and flung himself down in the miraculously-still-intact chair.

"Summon the Sirens," Durant ordered.

"Are—are you certain of that, sir?" stammered Duffy. "They are notoriously hard to control—"

"I know!" snapped Durant. "But we have no other option. Araey has all three Acquati sisters and the pirate king. The Perseid could have dealt with the sisters alone, but with the pirate king aboard and the curse lifting…" Durant slammed his dagger into the desk, pinning the map there to the mahogany tabletop.

Duffy shifted uncertainly from one foot to the other. "Sir," he finally said, clearing his throat. "Am I permitted to know what Emiliano told you about Sycorax's curses?"

"You are not! Now summon the Sirens!" Durant yelled, hurling a shattered goblet at Duffy's head. Duffy dodged the missile and shut the door behind him, putting a heavy plank of wood between himself and the enraged Commodore.

The sight out on deck was not much better. The crew was still working on clearing away the evidence of last night's storm, and the stump of the mainmast jutted out like a badly broken bone from the center of the ship. The _Chorister _would not see battle any time soon, and neither would the _Cursed Yank_, with its shredded sails and splintered bowsprit. The _Woodlander_ was listing drunkenly to one side and would likely be out of commission for several days too. The two ships that looked to be in the best shape were the _American _and the _Oliver_, neither of which were anywhere near as fast as the _Chorister _under full sail.

The _Anjou_, the Sirens' ship, was fast though, and to the best of Duffy's knowledge it hadn't been anywhere near the Acquatis' storm. Actually, when it came down to it, the _Anjou_ was probably even faster than the _Chorister_. She could certainly run down _La Tempesta_. Perhaps that was why Durant was having him call in the Sirens instead of sending back to Port Royal for reinforcements…

_Rex maris_ and the Acquati triumvirate. Lieutenant Duffy shuddered to think of it. If left to their own devices, they would rule the seven seas in a matter of months.

"You smell of fear, Lieutenant Duffy," the creature who had been Captain Barlow said from behind his shoulder.

"It is perfectly natural to have a little trepidation about dealing with the daughters of one of the ancient forces in this world and a new power of unknown magnitude, Captain Barlow." Duffy didn't know what else he was supposed to address the Perseid as. He had lost his humanity when they shoved him under the water, but as far as Duffy knew, Durant had never stripped him of his office.

The Perseid bared his teeth in a feral smile. "Trepidation? Anticipation, Lieutenant Duffy, that is what I feel. I will crush this little sea king beneath my heel."

"Leaving me to deal with three very angry witches," grumbled Duffy.

The former Theo Barlow's grin widened. "Take out _rex maris_ and Sycorax's curse will settle on them for good. Then they will be easy to dispose of."

* * *

Antonio found Sara perched on the bowsprit, leaning intently into the wind and cupping her hand around her ear as though listening for something.

"Can't you hear it?" she asked without turning around.

"Hear what?" Antonio asked. "I hear nothing."

"There is singing on the wind," the middle Acquati sister whispered, staring off into the distance. "The _Anjou _is sailing." Her knuckles whitened on the wood. "The _Anjou_ is sailing!" she repeated, louder. "The _Anjou_ is sailing for Nassau! All hands on deck! Make ready to weigh anchor!"

All of a sudden Araey was at the wheel and the whole deck was swarming with people. The anchor came up with a groaning like death and the sails came down like a great black shroud ready to swallow Antonio whole. Annette and her raven were in the crow's nest, Imelda and Sebastian perched in the fighting top calling out directions.

"What's the _Anjou_?" Antonio called out as he raced after Sara, who was making her way quickly to Araey in the stern.

"It's a Siren ship," she answered.

"And what, pray tell, is a Siren ship?"

"It's a privateer crewed only by women, typically of the more bloodthirsty and ruthless variety. The _Anjou_'s captained by a woman named Aislinn Arrington, and she definitely fits that description. Durant will call them in from time to time. He must be sailing with them now that Annette and Imelda have put the _Chorister_ out of commission."

"Annette and Imelda? But how—?"

Sara grabbed him by the collar of his shirt without slowing down and dragged him along next to her. "Antonio di Milano. We are about to be at war. I do not have time for your questions right now."

Antonio stumbled when Sara released him, but he quickly bounced back to his feet and shoved her up against the mizzenmast. "Sara Acquati," he snarled. "We are about to be at war. I have _every right_ to know what the hell is going on on this ship!"

"By this time tomorrow, we will be facing down the best soldiers in the Royal Navy, a crew of Sirens, and a Perseid." Sara shot back, casually kneeing him in the groin and lifting his limp arm from her neck. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to make sure this ship is well and truly out to sea by the time that happens, or else we risk putting the entire population of Nassau in danger! Gin, Edan, haul together! Not that line, Giovanni! Where's Alessandro gotten off too?"

Sara strode off, bellowing commands, leaving Antonio standing flabbergasted in the middle of the deck. How quickly his life had turned upside-down. One day he was Duke of Milan with an army at his back, the next he was plain old Antonio again, shoved out of the way like so much useless garbage.

_The crashing waves will be the sound of your doom…_ The hedge witch's voice echoed in his mind, even as the sea broke against _La Tempesta_'s hull with renewed fury. The deck shifted under his feet, and Antonio lurched for the rail, depositing the contents of his stomach over the side of the ship.

The crew left him alone there as they got the ship underway. He had his own private island of misery nestled next to the cannons as he stared down into the instrument of his death and felt his heart start hammering in his chest. What if the witch had been right? What if he did die at sea? Who would look after Sebastian? He should talk to Imelda as soon as he could get her alone—just in case. The eldest of the Acquati sisters had already started to take Sebastian under her wing, surely if something happened to Antonio, she would continue to take care of him...

Once _La Tempesta_ was well out to sea, the activity on deck slowed to a crawl and Antonio's stomach mercifully settled down. Annette left Medraut to watch and climbed down from the crow's nest, while Imelda and Sebastian slid down from the fighting top.

"Are you sure you're feeling well enough to be doing that?" Antonio asked as Sebastian strolled towards him across the heaving deck.

"Are you sure you're the one who should be asking that question?" Sebastian replied with a smile. "You look rather green."

Antonio declined to answer and studied Sebastian instead. He certainly seemed to be in good health again—his eyes were bright and clear, and there was no sign of fever on his skin. But just last morning he had been so sick… Sebastian had never recovered so quickly before.

"I know what you're thinking," Sebastian whispered in his ear. "I told you, it's the sea air."

Yes, the sea air was a blessing to Sebastian and a curse to Antonio… But Sebastian could never know that. He couldn't know that Antonio had heard something whispering on the wind too, but it wasn't the sound of the _Anjou_—it was the sound of his own death.

"Line up for weapons inspection!" Annette Acquati yelled, and Sebastian dragged Antonio to the far end of the line that sprang up in a matter of seconds.

The sisters went down the line, checking the edge on swords and the shafts on axes, the barrels on the pistols and the flintlock mechanisms on the muskets. Anyone whose weapons were not satisfactory was ordered to fix them and report back in half an hour.

Antonio presented Imelda with his saber and pistol as Sara examined Sebastian's arms.

"Impeccable," Imelda said, handing the sword back to him hilt-first. "I'm impressed."

"'You should take care of what you live by,'" Antonio replied, quoting his old swordmaster. _You'll live by your sword, young master Antonio,_ the grizzled old man his father had hired to tutor him used to say. _How can you know that?_ the young Antonio would ask him. _Because you've nothing else to live by,_ the older man would say, and Antonio's gaze would light on Prospero—sitting on the side of the practice field with his nose buried in a book, not even making an attempt to engage in his fencing lesson—and that slow anger would start to burn in Antonio's stomach again.

"Take one of these for your pistol." Imelda dropped a solid gold bullet into his hand, jerking him out of his seething vat of dark memories and old grudges. He still had a score to settle with his brother.

"And you take one for each of yours too," Imelda continued to Sebastian.

"What are these for?" Sebastian asked, holding up one bullet and watching it glitter in the sunlight. "This is pure gold, isn't it?"

"That's for the Perseid, if you have the ill-fortune to come across him," Annette said, loading a similar bullet into her musket.

"And what, pray tell, is a Perseid?" asked Sebastian, still staring at the chunk of gold in his hand.

The sisters shared a glance and shoved Imelda to the front. "It's a sailor," the eldest sister tried to explain. "Well, not just any sailor though. Imagine you took the biggest, nastiest British sailor in the whole Royal Navy, drowned him, put a hex on him, and brought him back to life."

"So essentially a British zombie sailor," remarked Antonio. "Great."

"Yes and no. I mean, its still got the whole undead thing going on, but typically Perseids don't really show it. There's no rotting flesh or anything, no discolored eyes or strange smells. The only way to distinguish a Perseid from your average pack of buff British sailors is a scar on their cheek—kind of a bent, upside-down Y thing, looks a bit like the constellation Perseus. Oh, and once you get into a fight with one, you realize that they're ridiculously strong and hardly ever tire, not to mention that they don't bleed and when you shoot them they just get back up and keep on swinging."

"So how do you kill one?"

"There's a certain venom that reverses the hex for a short period of time and turns them mortal again. Within five minutes of the venom entering their system, you have to get them underwater and drown them. Or stab them through their marked cheek with a piece of solid gold, but that's normally hard to come by in the middle of a battle unless it's in the form of a bullet. We usually tend to opt for drowning though. It's a nice sort of poetic justice."

Sebastian's eyes were the size of saucers. "So you—you've fought these things before? Frequently?"

"I wouldn't say _frequently,_" Sara chimed in. "But we've run across them on occasion."

"More occasions than I'd like," Annette grumbled under her breath.

"But why would the British raise a Perseid now?" mused Antonio, instinctively leaning closer to Sebastian. "What's got them so scared?"

The Florentine sisters shared another complicated series of glances and gestures and tapping on the deck.

This time, Annette was nominated spokeswoman. "It's probably us." Sara poked her in the back. "Okay, it's definitely us, it is in fact always and only ever us. Because," she held up a hand to silence Antonio's question, "we can't be killed by anything else the Royal Navy throws at us."

"Tell them," Sara hissed. "If they are to help us reclaim what is ours, they should know who—_what_—we are."

Annette sighed. "We are the children of Stheno."

Blank stares greeted this announcement.

"Stheno. Medusa's eldest sister."

Sebastian gasped, but Antonio still had no idea what they were talking about.

"Stheno. The Gorgon. You know, snakes for hair and a gaze that turns people to stone?"

Antonio finally reacted, and that reaction was to grab Sebastian by the shoulders and place himself between the scrawnier man and the three sisters while glaring furiously at the whole pack of them. "You're _what_?!"

"Relax, Antonio," Sebastian sighed. "If they wanted to hurt us, they would have done so already."

"_Relax?!_ Seb, they just admitted to being monsters!"

"Excuse you, 'monster' is a relative term, Antonio di Milano," Annette Acquati growled. "We did not ask to be born this way, we simply happened to come into the world as Gorgons rather than humans. Is that such a crime?"

"N-no," he stammered. "I just thought—"

Sara silenced him with a glare. "You did not think, that is the problem. You do not know the trials we have faced. We too were cursed by Sycorax on that dark day."

"There are two curses on _La Tempesta_?" Sebastian asked softly.

"There are several curses," Annette scoffed. "Several of them ours. What?" she asked when her sisters turned to glare at her. "Shall I tell them the story of the daughters of Stheno? Or shall we let them hear it in bits and pieces from tavern wenches and British privateers?"

"Tell them," Sara snarled. "But I have better things to do with my time than to stand around and hear the tale of our defeat." She spun on her heel and marched off, the twin tails of her greatcoat flapping behind her.

Annette looked at the two of them for a long moment, but Antonio had the distinct feeling that she was really just looking at Sebastian, not him. "You should know," she finally sighed. "It concerns you, so you should know. My sisters and I were born in Florence, where our mother had been serving the Medici for centuries. But the Medici family was failing and our place at court was no longer secure, so we left Florence as soon as we had all come of age. I suppose we were all rather young and stupid. But look at who we were—the daughters of the eldest Gorgon, witches in our own right, purses heavy with Medici gold, with the whole world before us."

"And just how did you end up with so much Medici gold?" Sebastian asked with the most innocent expression on his face. "I heard they were nearly bankrupt by the time they fell."

"We… _acquired_ it." Annette grinned viciously. "Anyways, we signed on as bodyguards for a group of Venetian merchants and began roving the Mediterranean, but of course the merchants were always a little bit suspicious of us. I mean, Imelda could climb straight up the mast, Sara could hold her breath underwater for hours, and I could talk to birds. We weren't exactly inconspicuous. Long story short, they started ridiculing us and swindling us out of our arranged pay. Next time their ship was attacked by pirates, we decided to throw out lot in with the pirates and see if they would pay better. The captain we signed on with was a former officer in the British Royal Navy named Cornelius Araey. Eventually, he figured out about our powers too…" Annette trailed off, her face twisted into a grimace. "But that is a story for another time. All you need to know is that we ruled the seas for a time, but our reign came to an end when we confronted the witch, Sycorax. She beat Araey and cursed his ship never to be able to dock until a man of his crew had been killed, and she stripped us of our powers until the king of the seas was free."

"But your powers are coming back, aren't they?" Sebastian asked. "You caused that storm last night."

Annette and Imelda nodded wordlessly.

"But then who's the king of the seas, and when was he freed?" Antonio asked.

"When we accidentally sprang him out of jail in Naples," replied Annette, but something about the way she said it made the hairs stand up on the back of Antonio's neck. How many of their crewmates had been incarcerated in Naples? He knew from talking to them that most of the new recruits were from Venice. In fact, he was fairly certain that only he and Sebastian had signed on in Naples…

"And once he comes into his full power, so will we again," added Imelda. "And then I think it will be time for us to set sail for Sycorax's island and pay her a little visit."

Sycorax… Sycorax… Why did that name sound so familiar to Antonio? He had heard it somewhere before, he was sure of it. He was also fairly sure it was important.

"And when will the king of the seas come into his power?" Sebastian had an oddly pensive expression on his face as he asked the question.

"When he is crowned."

Antonio glanced over at Sebastian and felt his stomach plummet. _She told me I would be king of a country even greater than Italy_, Sebastian had said the hedge witch had prophesied to him. What greater kingdom was there than the sea? Was that what she had meant, that Sebastian was fated to rule from the deck of a ship? And did that mean that Antonio was about to pay the price he had promised so long ago for his life?


	7. The Fear of Falling Apart

Aislinn Arrington was not happy about having to play host to Commodore Durant and his men, but she had little choice about it. He had, after all, been the one to give her command of the _Anjou_ in the first place. He was also paying her a better commission than he paid most of his senior officers.

"We will be in sight of Nassau by sunset tomorrow," Durant said, carefully unrolling his maps on Aislinn's table.

"Weather providing," the captain clarified, crossing her arms and glaring balefully at the commodore. She did not appreciate having him commandeer her quarters. There would be wig powder in the air for months. Not to mention the wine stains that he was sure to inflict on her furniture.

Durant did not look up from his arranging of the little lead pieces. "We will be in sight of Nassau by sunset tomorrow," he repeated.

Aislinn threw up her hands and stalked out of the captain's quarters, which would be the commodore's quarters for the course of the mission. The _Anjou_ was the fastest ship this side of the Atlantic—under normal circumstances, _La Tempesta_ would have been as good as captured as soon as the Sirens had set their sails in her direction. But the Acquati sisters changed everything. Aislinn almost respected them for that.

"Captain Arrington! Milady!"

Aislinn turned to find a shorter man wearing the distinctive powdered wig and blue coat of the Royal Navy striding purposefully towards her, another taller man in a matching uniform in tow.

"Do I know you?" she asked, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. What new ploy of Durant's was this? Was she to be put under watch now?

The shorter man snapped off a smart salute. "Lieutenant Charles Duffy, currently serving on board the _HMS Chorister_. And this," he gestured to the taller, heavily muscled man who sported his own, natural, cropped brown hair, "is Captain Theo Barlow, formerly of the _HMS Cursed Yank_."

"Theo!" Aislinn exclaimed, rushing forwards to embrace him. "I hardly recognized you! I don't think I've seen you since we were serving on the _Oliver_ together, and that was—what, two, three years ago? Theo," she paused for a moment when he did not return her embrace, "what's happened to you?"

"Durant drowned him," Duffy supplied with a shudder. "He's threatened to turn half the Royal Navy into Perseids if we don't take out the Acquatis and their new ally."

"New ally?" How could Durant have done this to one of his best captains? Drowned him and hexed him and enslaved him to the sea… Theo must have volunteered. He had to have volunteered. Durant wouldn't have turned him against his will, would he?

"_Rex maris,_" Barlow growled, showing no sign that he had recognized Aislinn at all. "Still uncrowned, but growing stronger every day."

"My God, Stheno's daughters and the pirate king," gasped Aislinn, momentarily shocked out of her deepening fury with the commodore. "They—they could rule the seas together. No wonder Durant is so keen on stopping them."

"About that…" Duffy glanced around and pulled Aislinn and Barlow in close. "I've got a plan."

* * *

"So, ready to hunt some British ships?" Sebastian grinned as he stripped off his shirt and flopped down in the hammock next to Antonio.

Antonio struggled to keep his jaw from dropping. "You—you've gotten all—muscly."

The other man was still ramrod thin, but gone were the sunken cheeks and protruding ribs that Antonio remembered. Sebastian's skin was bronzed by the sun, his arms were starting to bulk up, and his chest had swelled and tightened into a set of abs almost as impressive as Antonio's.

"It's what happens when you're raising sails and carrying cannon balls and fencing with the Acquatis." Sebastian brushed his lips across Antonio's and poked him in the stomach. "Pretty soon I'll look like you."

"But—but you were sick! For four whole days!" All signs of illness had passed from Sebastian's body. In the past, when he had been sick, he had carried some token of his illness for weeks or even months afterwards. But here he was, fully recovered in a matter of days.

"The sea's been good to me," Sebastian said with a sheepish grin, tugging nervously at the lock of hair that always fell over his eyes. "I'm sorry, it hasn't been as good to you, has it? Are you sure you're okay?"

Antonio swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. He could not lie to Sebastian, he had promised himself he would always tell him the truth, and yet… "Sailing just makes me feel a bit… ill. I'll be fine in the morning." _And you're going to be the king of the pirates, and I'm going to be wrapped in seaweed and buried at the bottom of the ocean,_ he wanted to add, but he forced himself to stay silent. Sebastian didn't need to hear his ramblings, he would only worry…

"'Tonio," Sebastian said gently, reaching out to trace the lines of Antonio's face. "What else is it?"

"Have you ever had a feeling, Seb?" Antonio whispered, lacing his fingers through Sebastian's and pulling the other man into his arms. "A feeling that something horrible is going to happen and you can't do anything about it?"

"This is still about the hedge witch, isn't it? 'Tonio…" Sebastian toyed with the collar of Antonio's shirt, a playful smile on his lips. "We're pirates now. Of course we're going to die at sea, but that won't be for a long, long time."

"How can you know that?" Something inside Antonio was breaking, shattering into a myriad of unidentifiable pieces.

Sebastian pressed their foreheads together. "Because I will protect you, and you will protect me. You told me once, a long time ago, that nothing would harm us as long as we stayed together. I still believe that."

"You always did have more faith than I did," Antonio chuckled bitterly. "You always trusted me."

"Because you earned it." Sebastian brushed his fingers lightly through Antonio's hair. "You stood by me when everyone else had given me up for dead. I remember it, 'Tonio—I remember falling into the darkness without a light, and I remember you catching me. You gave me the sea and brought me back to life. A miracle, they said it was. But I learned a long time ago that there are no gods to work miracles for us—it's only ourselves."

"Well, us and a pack of Gorgon sisters. There's more magic in this world than I bargained for, Seb."

"We don't always get what we bargain for," Sebastian grinned, his fingers traveling down the side of Antonio's jawline, down his throat and over his collarbones under the thin linen shirt. "For example, you are much more handsome than you have any right to be."

"Sebastian!" Antonio hissed. "We are on a ship full of other people!"

Sebastian laughed and tugged at Antonio's shirt. "You think they don't know about us, 'Tonio? Ye gods, the Acquatis have had a running bet for the past month about how long it'll be before you propose."

"_What?!_"

"Yeah, from what I understand, the sooner you do it, the more money that Sara and Annette have to hand over to Imelda. Imelda also offered to marry us. I'm still not sure whether or not she was joking."

The little nest of vipers… They were almost worse than Prospero playing matchmaker with Miranda and Ferdinand—oh, how many times Antonio had heard that story on the long voyage from his brother's island refuge back to Naples. Prospero had positively gloated about it, how he had arranged for Alonso's only son to fall in love with his only daughter, ensuring that she would be Duchess of Milan _and_ Queen of Naples after his death… _And look at you, _Prospero had hissed in his ear. _Locked in the brig with your would-be king. You'll never rule, either one of you, alone or together. I hope Alonso's brother still loves you when he figures out what you did._

"If—if I did ask you, what would you say?" Antonio choked out around the growing lump of rage in his throat. He would find his way back to Italy one day, back to Prospero and his hideous books, and he would show him how wrong he was. He would take back Milan for him and Sebastian.

"I'd say yes, you idiot," Sebastian murmured, finally succeeding in slipping Antonio's tunic off over his head. The torchlight flickered across the sharp planes of his face as he ran his fingers lightly over Antonio's muscled chest.

Antonio wrapped Sebastian's wavy hair around his hands and pulled him down until their lips were touching. They stayed frozen that way for a moment, but then Antonio heard the lapping of the waves against _La Tempesta_'s hull and was seized by a sudden sense of urgency. Anything could happen in the morning. Antonio had not forgotten the fear that had seized him when the tempest tore Alonso's flagship apart on the return journey from Tunis. The roaring waves and the screaming winds and the fell voices on the air that cried out for his doom… He had thought he was going to die that day, and in that moment when the sea had swept him overboard, he had known beyond a doubt what his biggest regret in this life was.

* * *

Sara whistled as she sharpened her sword. Imelda heard her start and immediately reached out a hand to snatch the boot that Annette chucked at her head.

"Just because you can't whistle is no reason to throw things at Sara," she reprimanded her younger sister.

Annette grumbled and went back to her sewing, muttering unintelligible curses to Medraut under her breath. The raven's beady eyes flashed as he hopped from foot to foot and ruffled his wings. He then proceeded to open his beak and squawk as loudly as he could.

"I am going to fry that thing and serve it to you for dinner," Imelda hissed, the Eduardo raising themselves from her shoulders and turning towards Annette and Medraut, a deadly cloud of blurred green and purple wings and needle-like beaks. The hummingbirds could be oddly menacing at times.

Medraut promptly bit off his screeching and darted behind Annette's back with his head tucked under his wing.

Sara's big mastiff thumped her tail contentedly on the deck, and the hummingbirds gathered around her. As soon as the raven peeked out again though, the Eduardo spun as one to hover threateningly in his direction.

"Call off the attack hummingbirds," Annette sighed. "Medraut'll behave."

"Well, isn't this an interesting little congregation. I thought I said no dogs on the ship, Acquati."

Daene bared her teeth as Captain Araey stepped out of his quarters and began walking up the stairs to the quarterdeck. Sara put a warning hand on her neck, but still her hackles did not go down.

"You know that she'll be as good in a fight with Durant as half the crew—better than most of the new recruits, probably. They're not ready, Araey," Sara grated out. "It'll be slaughter."

"It'll be slaughter whenever it happens," Araey shot back. "But it's better that Durant think us weak right now. Do you want him to raise more Perseids?"

Sara put down her whetstone and spat at Araey's feet. "You are knowingly leading them to their deaths. How can you be any better than Jay Durant and his ilk?"

In one fluid motion, Araey drew his saber and leveled it with Sara's chest. She stared up defiantly at him as he let the sword take a drop of blood from above her collarbone. "You haven't forgotten what happened the last time you tried to cross me, have you?"

Sara saw Annette's fingers twitch and hastily tapped her foot against the deck. _Not now. Don't let him know how much of our power has returned yet_.

"I remember that you are a greater oathbreaker than any man in the entire British Royal Navy," Sara shot back, nonchalantly batting the saber's blade away from her. "One day the High King of the Seas will come, and you will rue your treachery."

"_Rex maris_," the captain scoffed. "An old fishwife's tale. Or an old snakewife's."

"We shall see about that." Sara sheathed her sword and pointedly turned her back on Captain Araey. "Once we ruled these seas. One day, when the fish are nibbling at your bones and the king is crowned, we shall rule them again."


	8. Give Me Shelter

"All hands on deck! All hands on deck!"

Imelda's shout raised Sebastian from his sleep. He blinked groggily, reluctant to leave the comforting swaying of his hammock and the familiar weight of Antonio above him, but then the door to belowdecks slammed open and the young Gorgon came clattering down the stairs.

"Araey wants everyone in position. The _Anjou_ is approaching fast from the southwest," she panted, and for the first time Sebastian detected a hint of actual fear in her voice. "Don't want to be, uh, caught with our trousers down, now do we?" she laughed nervously.

Antonio groaned something unintelligible and rolled out of the hammock and onto the deck. Sebastian rose to his feet a bit more gracefully and snatched his shirt from the peg where he had hung it last night.

"Oh please, Im," Sebastian sighed, rolling his eyes and gesturing to his fully-clothed lower half. "Have a little faith."

"Still gonna want to be wearing more than that when we take on Commodore Durant and his scum."

Sebastian tossed Antonio his shirt and pulled on the sea-stained leather vest he had swapped his tattered Neapolitan jacket for upon joining _La Tempesta_'s crew. "Arm up?" he asked, and at Imelda's nod he tucked his pistols into the sash around his waist, slung the baldric that held his cutlass over his head, then tugged on his boots, slid Antonio's spare throwing knives into their hidden sheaths, and grabbed his short grey coat.

Antonio groaned a few more times to make sure his protests were duly noted, then groggily donned his tunic and buttoned up the crimson doublet Sebastian had bought for him in Nassau. Sebastian passed him his baldric and saber, then the pistol and boarding axe he had been issued.

"All set?" Imelda queried. The pair nodded. "Let's go then."

When Sebastian emerged on deck again, he found that New Providence had receded into the distance and was now only a thin line on the horizon. The sky was painted a bloody red as the crew stumbled up from belowdecks and assembled in front of Captain Araey, who looked more than half-mad with his grey hair billowing wildly in the wind and his eyes flashing with a fell light.

"Red sky in the morning…" Araey began, fingering the hilt of his bejeweled sword. "…Sailors take warning. British sailors, that is. For we are free men, and free women, and they cannot take the sea from us! They seek to chain us, imprison us, blow us to pieces—but we are stronger than they are! We will send them to the Locker and live to fight another day!"

The crew of _La Tempesta_ roared agreement, waving swords and guns in the air and stamping their feet on the deck. Sebastian felt himself getting caught up in the excitement and found himself, much to his own surprise, raising his pistol to the bleeding sky and baying for British blood.

"Ship ho!" Annette called down from the crow's nest. "The _Anjou_ is in sight!"

"Load the cannons!" Araey hollered, and the deck erupted into a flurry of activity as the crew formed a line and began passing cannon balls down from the forecastle armory where they were stored.

And then Sebastian looked up from the cannon he was loading and caught his first sight of their adversary. The ship before him was the spitting image of _La Tempesta_, from the figurehead carved in the likeness of an ancient mermaid to the wrought-iron lantern hanging off the back of the stern. The only discernable differences were that the _Anjou _was painted blue and yellow and flew the Union Jack from her topmast, while _La Tempesta_ was black from sails to hull and flew a black flag emblazoned with a tattered white net.

"Is that…?" Sebastian let the question hang as he tried hard to calm the anxious churning of his stomach.

"Aye," Sara said as she rammed a cartridge of black powder down the muzzle of her cannon. "That's Araey's old _Tyger's Heart_, raised from the deep and crewed by a flock of Sirens now."

"We'll show those bastards what happens to ship thieves. Ready to run the Kraken's Teeth, Imelda?" Araey shouted, and the Florentine woman gave a sharp salute from the helm.

"Aye, sir!" she yelled back as she spun the wheel and _La Tempesta_ skidded sideways across the waves, sending a fountain of water crashing over the gunwales and into Sebastian's face. When it was safe to do so again, he scrambled for the railing and stared in trepidation at the razor-sharp spires of rock that jutted above the foam.

Sara nodded nonchalantly towards the rocks. "The Kraken's Teeth," she said by way of explanation. "They've eaten many a ship," she added, pointing to the fragments of masts and sails lodged among the rocks.

"Then why the hell are we headed towards them?!" Antonio shrieked, his knuckles white around the rope he was hanging onto, his face tinged slightly green.

"Gotta go, boys," Sara said, giving her cannon one last inspection and lunging back towards the masts. "Ready to lower the sails on my command!" she hollered. "On my signal—wait for it, lads, wait for it…" She held up her hand, scanning the water for some sign that Sebastian could not discern. "Now!" she yelled, dropping her hand. "Haul together now! _Come all you young sailor men, listen to me, I'll sing you a song of the fish in the sea,_" she started to sing.

The rest of the crew joined in on the chorus, chanting together in time as the sails flew upwards.

"_And it's windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys,_

_ When the wind blows, we're all together boys,_

_ Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow,_

_ Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes!_"

The wind caught the great black sails and they snapped out, straining against the ropes that bound them as _La Tempesta _leapt forwards into the Kraken's Teeth. Imelda was laughing at the helm as she steered the ship through the treacherous rocks with deceptive ease, while Antonio hunkered down next to one of the cannons and fought to keep his breakfast in his stomach.

"The _Anjou_ is going to do it! She's going to dance the Kraken's Teeth!" Annette called down from the crow's nest. "Ready the port cannons! We're coming up to the Switchback!"

Sebastian looked out at the dangerous maze of rocks and shook his head in confusion. How were they supposed to make the turn around the Switchback if the sails were up and the wind was blowing from the opposite direction?

But just when he thought that they would miss the turn and sail straight into the rocks, the south wind abruptly died and was replaced by a strong eastern breeze as the Acquati sisters whispered sibilant words in an ancient tongue.

"Ready at the cannons!" Araey yelled as they raced back towards the _Anjou_. "And fire!"

Sebastian grinned at Antonio, and they lit their cannons together, covering their ears as the cannon balls exploded away from _La Tempesta_ and slammed into the _Anjou_'s side. There was a flurry of activity from the British ship, and Antonio shoved Sebastian to the deck a second before Durant returned fire and pieces of _La Tempesta_ went up in splinters all around them. Some of the other crew members weren't as lucky as they were—out of the corner of his eye, Sebastian saw Alessandro cradling a splintered and bleeding arm.

"Reload the cannons!" Araey yelled, and Sebastian struggled obediently to his feet.

"Seb, what are you doing?" Antonio cried, reaching up to grab his coat and trying to pull him back to the safety of the deck.

"The only way _we _get out of this alive is if _they_ don't," Sebastian growled, shrugging his coat off of his shoulders and leaving Antonio gaping on the deck.

The _Anjou_ fired a second volley, ripping into _La Tempesta_'s sails and sending her careening dangerously close to the rocks protruding above the surface. "You'll be killed, Seb!" Antonio screamed frantically as Sebastian struggled to load the cannon by himself, shrapnel flying around his head. "You've never even been in a land battle before, much less one at sea! Please, Seb, go below!"

"Fire starboard cannons!"

"What, and leave all the fun to you?" Sebastian joked over the sound of screaming men and splintering wood as he lit the cannon. Never in his life had he felt more alive. The blood was coursing hot and thick through his veins, sharpening his sight so that the world was focused in startling clarity and honing his hearing until he could detect the slightest scraping of wood or metal. The sea air was in his lungs, filling them to bursting, his hair was damp from the spray, and he felt more at home than he had ever felt outside of Antonio's arms.

"Hell's teeth!" Annette cursed from the crow's nest. "She's going to cut across and run the Kraken's Maw! Imelda, spin the ship before she broadsides us!"

True to Annette's word, Sebastian saw the sinisterly familiar shape of the _Anjou_ angling towards _La Tempesta_ and sailing full-speed into the most densely packed area of rocks. Her sides were teeming with blue-uniformed British soldiers and Siren sailors in bright crimson dresses, all of them waiting with swords drawn and guns loaded.

"Ready the grappling hooks! Prepare to board!" commanded Araey, drawing his bejeweled saber in one hand and a barbed hook in the other.

Sebastian grabbed the grappling hook that Sara tossed to him and raced to _La Tempesta_'s battered railing. "Come on, Antonio!" he shouted as the two ships drew even with each other and exchanged another volley of cannon fire. The world was smoke and ash and shattered wood around him, but Sebastian twirled the grappling hook over his head and hurled it towards the _Anjou_, where it lodged itself in the deck with a satisfying _thud_.

A strange keening sound split the air, and Sebastian, momentarily distracted, glanced up into the rigging of _La Tempesta_. Annette Acquati stood there like something out of a nightmare, arms outstretched and black fire flickering between her fingers. She yelled something in a language so old even Sebastian could not identify it, cut a rope loose from the mast, and swung across the blood-stained stretch of water between the two ships into the _Anjou_'s rigging.

"The witch!" Sebastian heard the British soldiers shout. "Kill the witch!"

"You want a witch?" Sara cried from _La Tempesta_'s bow, grappling hook in hand. "I'm right here!" She hurled her grappling hook right into one of the British officers, pinning him to the railing of the _Anjou_ as she drew the rope taught and tied it off around the neck of the _La Tempesta'_s figurehead. Then she too was on board the British ship, musket blazing and sword flashing in the early morning sunlight.

"Seb! Look out!"

At Antonio's warning, Sebastian turned to find a British soldier with a lieutenant's insignia on his shoulder swinging on board _La Tempesta_ with a handful of other blue-coated men behind him. He dodged the lieutenant's bullet and stumbled away from the railing as he drew his sword, scanning the tumult of the deck for Antonio. But he could not find the other man in the middle of all the chaos, and so he turned to face the British officer on his own.

"Alright," the lieutenant grunted as their swords crossed for the first time, "who the hell are you?"

Sebastian dodged his next thrust, stepped inside the arc of his blade, and grinned as he punched the British officer in the face. "Sebastian di Napoli, very much not at your service." He swept a mock bow as the lieutenant wiped the blood from his broken nose and surged back to his feet, his sword a glittering blur.

"Perfect. Now I know what name to write on your death warrant," the other man said, his voice already starting to distort from his swelling nose. "Lieutenant Charles Duffy, by the way," he added as he backed Sebastian up against the cannon. "So you can tell Davy Jones who sent you."

Sebastian, who had fallen back under the lieutenant's onslaught, flexed his knees and leapt backwards up onto the cannon, swinging down at Duffy's head as he did so. The lieutenant ducked, and Sebastian wrapped one of the ropes dangling from the mainmast around his wrist. As Duffy lunged towards him again, Sebastian hoisted himself up on the rope and swung straight into the officer. His boot connected with the other man's face, and the lieutenant dropped to the deck.

"Nice one!" Imelda yelled from the helm, greatcoat flaring out behind her as she spun to fight three Siren women at once. She disarmed them, one right after the other, and snatched the musket Fiorenzo tossed to her as she whirled to face the next batch of red-robed privateers.

"Thanks!" Sebastian shouted back, scanning the deck again for Antonio. The Milanese man was nowhere to be seen, but Sebastian was too busy at the moment to waste any thoughts on worry. There was another British soldier in front of him, bayonet loaded and aimed. Sebastian drew his pistol from his side and put a bullet in the other man's brains before he could fire. He had the vague sense that he should feel remorse for his actions, but no remorse came as the world echoed to the sound of gunfire.

And then there was a searing pain in his shoulder, and his right arm went numb. Sebastian glanced down, scarcely registering the growing crimson stain soaking through his shirt and doublet. The sword dropped from his senseless fingers as a man with cropped brown hair and a curiously bland expression advanced on him, sword drawn.

Sebastian forced the pain out of his mind and aimed his pistol at his attacker. He knew his first shot hit true, but no blood spurted from the wound and the British soldier kept coming towards him.

"Imelda!" he yelled as he scrambled to reload his pistol with the golden bullet. "Imelda!"

"I'm a little busy at the moment!" she yelled back. "Oh no, don't you dare go after my little Gin, you bastard!" Someone screamed and died.

"Imelda, I found the Perseid!" he shrieked, hot-blooded panic flaring through him for the first time since the _Anjou_ had come into sight. "Imelda! Sara! Annette!"

The Perseid pulled back his lips and drew in a deep lungful of air. The flicker of a smile creased his face as his gaze locked with Sebastian's. "I thought you would have made it a challenge, at least, _rex maris._" Just as Sebastian managed to fumble the golden bullet into the pistol, the Perseid lunged for him and knocked the gun out of his hand. Then he hooked a leg behind Sebastian's knees and sent him crashing to the deck.

Sebastian bit back a scream as his injured shoulder hit the wood. His left hand scrambled for the fallen pistol, but then the Perseid's booted foot stamped down right on top of the bullet wound. Pain exploded down the length of his arm, and Sebastian let loose a breathless scream of agony.

"Little pirate king," the Perseid sneered, laying his sword across Sebastian's trembling throat. "How short your reign was."

Sebastian gulped as the Perseid raised his sword high overhead, the blade glittering in the sunlight. He should have listened to Antonio. He should have stayed out of the fight. He was just Sebastian di Napoli, the king's useless younger brother who had never seen battle before, never fired a gun until a few months ago, never gone more than a few weeks without falling ill from some sickness or another. He had thought he could play at being a soldier, but he was wrong, and now he was going to pay the price.

"Antonio," he whimpered, staring up into the Perseid's emotionless blue gaze. "I'm sorry." He closed his eyes, his narrow chest fluttering rapidly, waiting for the steely whisper of his death.

But the blow never came.

There was a feral scream and the clash of metal on metal, and Sebastian opened his eyes again to find Antonio standing over him, his sword locked with the Perseid's.

"You. Leave. Him. Be," Antonio snarled, forcing the Perseid's sword up and kicking him in the groin.

The Perseid stumbled back for a moment, but he sprang back into action faster than Sebastian had thought was humanly possible. "Your death can be arranged too," the Perseid spat as he lashed out at Antonio. "You can escort your king to the Locker."

There was a black cloud encroaching on the edge of Sebastian's vision as he watched Antonio jump out of the way of the Perseid's blade, that familiar fencer's snarl on his face that Sebastian had grown so used to seeing when he watched him dueling in Naples… Antonio's tanned skin glistened with sweat, his black hair slicked back by the sea spray, his steps fine and precise as he drove the hexed British sailor away from Sebastian.

Sebastian almost smiled. It would be alright now. Antonio was a master swordsman. No one could beat him.

But the Perseid couldn't die until one of the Acquatis reversed the hex on him, and none of the Gorgon sisters were anywhere in sight.

Sebastian swallowed his pain and reached for his pistol again, but just as his fingers touched the barrel, a hand clamped down over his mouth and a sharp knife pricked at his throat.

"Well, Sebastian di Napoli," Duffy hissed through his broken nose, "so dies a k—"

Sebastian bit down hard on the lieutenant's hand and the other man released his neck, but then he slammed the heel of his palm into Sebastian's wounded shoulder and the world briefly exploded in a flare of stars before it faded to black.

His eyelids fluttered open some short time later as he lay with his cheek pressed into the rough timbers of _La Tempesta_'s deck. Lieutenant Duffy lay next to him, breathing shallowly, one of Antonio's throwing knives protruding from his side. Antonio himself was still standing between Sebastian and the Perseid, flashing saber in hand as he dueled the creature to the splintered railing of the ship. For a long moment, Sebastian thought the Milanese man would actually best the drowned captain. But then Antonio's sword caught between the Perseid's ribs, and no blood came forth but neither did the sword slide free again. Sebastian watched, helpless from the deck, as Antonio backed up towards the railing, scrambling frantically for something to use as a weapon while the Perseid moved relentlessly forwards.

"You come between a hunter and his prey," the Perseid snarled, his thick fingers reaching out to encircle Antonio's throat.

_Antonio! _Sebastian tried to scream, but the sound stuck in his throat.

"Barlow!" someone shouted, and Sebastian saw the flash as a dagger flew through the air and embedded itself in the Perseid's back. The creature arched its spine and let loose a blood-curdling screech, but he did not let go of Antonio. Instead, he slammed the man against the railing and wrenched the knife out of his back to hold it to Antonio's throat.

There was something about the knife that Sebastian couldn't quite focus on. It shimmered and danced in the sunlight, a strange green glow reflecting from its surface… _There is a certain venom,_ Imelda's voice whispered in his mind, _that renders the Perseid mortal again_. Imelda must have coated her daggers in it.

Now the golden bullets. Antonio had one loaded in his pistol, but that pistol was lying halfway across the deck and the dagger was an inch from his neck.

Sebastian's fingers twitched, and he hissed in pain as he scrambled for his own pistol again. He finally managed to force his hand to pick it up, and with a grimace of pain, he cocked it back to fire. His hand shook as he tried to sight, and Sebastian took several shuddering gulps of air in attempt to steady it. He would only get one chance. He had to shoot straight. He had to hit the Perseid on its scarred cheek. If he missed, the bullet would bury itself in Antonio's chest instead.

_You're a walking curse, Sebastian,_ Alonso had told him. _You killed our parents. You'll kill everyone who ever mattered to you._

A dark cloud was stealing over Sebastian's eyes as his limbs started to shiver. He lined up his shot, aiming for the center of the upside-down Y on the Perseid's cheek, and pulled the trigger.

There was a flash of light, the screaming of a man as metal seared through flesh, and the sound of a splash from far below.

But Sebastian's eyes had already closed as he slumped back to the deck and tumbled into the darkness again.


	9. Sound the Bells

"Antonio," Sebastian muttered. "Antonio." And then, louder, as the memories came tumbling back, "_Antonio!_"

"Shh," someone, not Antonio, said as they placed a hand on his shoulder. "You got shot, you idiot."

Sebastian struggled to open his eyes, but they felt as though they were held down by leaden cannon balls. "Antonio," he breathed as a flare of pain went down his side and he slipped back into unconsciousness.

When he finally became aware of his surroundings again, Sebastian realized that he was propped up on a narrow cot with a thick swath of fabric wrapped around his shoulder. His right side was blessedly numb for the moment, but his mind was not. He remembered seeing Antonio grappling with the Perseid, he remembered the dagger and scrambling for the gun and pulling the trigger. He remembered the scream and the splash, but he could not remember anything but darkness after that.

"Where's Antonio?" he whispered as Imelda Acquati held a cup of water to his lips.

"You just rest up," she said, gently pushing him back to the cot as he struggled to rise.

"We're on land," he murmured. "What happened to the ship? What happened to the British? To the _Anjou_ and the Perseid?"

"_La Tempesta_ is docked in the harbor for repairs. A good deal of the British are lounging in Davy Jones' Locker. The _Anjou_… The _Anjou_ disengaged and fled after the Perseid fell."

Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief and sank back against the lumpy pillow. It was all okay then. His aim had been true, the Perseid was dead, Antonio had to be somewhere close by…

"Where's Antonio?" Sebastian murmured as the darkness started to claim him again.

"In the morning, Sebastian."

He knew that she had not answered his question, and there was a tiny piece in the back of his mind that whispered that something was wrong, but the darkness took him before he could formulate another question to ask her.

* * *

The moonlight on the water was deceivingly calm as the three Acquati sisters leaned over the recently repaired railing of _La Tempesta_ and stared off into the night. An empty tankard dangled from Imelda's fingertips, tapping a steady rhythm against the side of the ship.

"How do we tell him?" she finally said, breaking the oppressive silence. "How can we possibly tell him?"

Annette sighed. "We have to tell him."

"But _how_?" Imelda repeated, the anguish clear in her voice. "How do we tell him without breaking him? You know what they were to each other."

"I don't know, but it has to be soon, before he figures it out from someone else," Sara said.

"We have to crown him too," added Annette. "The sooner the better."

"Yes," Imelda agreed, "but first we have to figure out how to tell him that Antonio is dead."

* * *

The next morning, Sebastian awoke to find himself in an empty room. He swung his legs out of bed and raised himself gingerly to his feet, careful not to jar his injured shoulder. It was strange that Antonio wasn't anywhere in sight—normally he wouldn't leave Sebastian's side if he wasn't well—but perhaps he was out getting breakfast.

Sebastian stumbled down the steps and discovered that the crew of _La Tempesta_ had commandeered a small tavern on an unfamiliar island. Alessandro was hunched over a table with his arm in a sling, Gin and Edan both sported numerous cuts in various stages of healing on their faces, and Milo and Gianni were dicing in corner with false smiles plastered on their faces. Antonio was nowhere to be seen, so Sebastian made his way slowly over to the Acquatis' table and sat down next to the Gorgon sisters.

"Where's Antonio?" he demanded. He had the vague memory of asking the same question the night before and not getting a straight answer.

"How are you feeling?" Imelda asked, reaching up to straighten the bandage on his shoulder. "That was a rather nasty shot that you took—"

"I'm feeling pissed that no one will answer my question," Sebastian growled. "Where. Is. Antonio?" he ground out, grabbing Imelda by the collar of her shirt and ignoring the flare of pain that went through his arm.

"It was for your own good—" Imelda started to say.

"You needed to heal—" Annette said at the same time.

"He's dead," Sara stated coolly.

The strength fled from Sebastian's fingers, and Imelda dropped from his grasp with a gasp. "N-no he's not," Sebastian stammered, stumbling backwards away from the sisters and frantically scanning the room for some sign of Antonio's presence, for his jacket left on a chair while he stepped outside for a moment, for his sword placed on a table to mark his spot while he went to look for Sebastian, for _something…_

But there was nothing.

Imelda and Annette pinioned Sebastian between them and led him, mute and unresisting, out of the tavern and into the sticky summer morning outside. _La Tempesta_ bobbed at anchor out in the harbor, half of the crew swarming over the deck and up into the rigging as they worked on repairing the damage caused by the _Anjou_. Perhaps Antonio was out there helping patch up the ship… But Sebastian could spot his lithe form neither on the deck nor above it. Maybe he was belowdecks though, or out in the town getting supplies, or further inland looking for wood… He wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead. It was impossible.

"Where is he?" Sebastian repeated plaintively.

"Sebastian," Imelda said gently, taking him by the shoulders. There were tears in her eyes. Why were there tears in her eyes? Sara couldn't have been right, she couldn't have been… "I'm so, so sorry. It's my fault. I should have gotten to you quicker when the Perseid attacked, but I had Aislinn Arrington on one hand and Rose Saylor on the other. The Perseid—his name's Theo Barlow, or at least it was back when he was captain of the _Cursed Yank_—had you on the deck, but I couldn't get to you in time. By the time I'd finished with Arrington and Saylor, Antonio had drawn Barlow away from you, but Barlow had him by the throat against the rail. I hit the Perseid in the back with a dagger coated in the poison that mortalizes them again—it's venom from our mother's snakes—and then somehow you managed to get to your gun, but it was too late…"

All the blood had drained from Sebastian's face and he stood frozen in place, staring at the eldest of the Acquati sisters with unseeing eyes. "No…" he whimpered. "No."

"You got…" Imelda hesitated for just a second too long before continuing, "Barlow. But he took Antonio with him over the side of the ship."

"It's my fault," Sebastian murmured. "I killed him. Oh god, I killed him."

Imelda shook Sebastian fiercely by the shoulders. "You did not kill him. If you hadn't shot Barlow then, he would have strangled Antonio before I could get to them. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine for not dispatching the Sirens sooner."

But what if he hadn't shot Barlow? What if he'd missed, what if he'd hit Antonio instead and _Antonio_ had taken _Barlow _into the sea with him? His hand had been shaking, his vision had been fading, he had never actually seen which man he hit… Oh god, _what if he had shot Antonio? _Would the Acquatis tell him if he had? Did they even know where his bullet had lodged itself?

"Or it's our fault," Annette chimed in, oblivious to the sinking feeling of doom that had settled on Sebastian's chest, "for crossing over to the _Anjou_. We should have stayed on _La Tempesta_."

"Aye, it's our fault," agreed Sara. "We should have stayed behind to guard you. We should have guessed that Durant would send someone after you."

"But—but why me? I'm no one. I'm not even in line for the throne anymore. I'm just Sebastian." He was just Sebastian, but Antonio had still loved him, had still followed him across the ocean… Antonio had always been uneasy around the water. The hedge witch had told him that he would die at sea, but Sebastian hadn't believed it until it was too late. He should have listened to Antonio's fears… _He should have listened..._

"Because you are _rex maris_, the pirate king," Annette explained softly. "The High King of the Seas, _il Signore della Acque_. The one whose coming was foretold would lift Sycorax's curse on us."

"No, no you're wrong, I can't be. I—I'm just Alonso's useless brother." Antonio was the only one who had ever seen anything more in him, the only one who had ever thought he had a greater destiny than to lurk in the shadow of his older sibling's throne…

Imelda spun him to face the sea. "It calls to you, doesn't it? It always has."

"I grew up by the sea in Naples, but they never let me outside for long… I was sick… They said the sea would kill me…" But it hadn't. The sea had made him stronger, yet it had taken Antonio in his place.

"And did you never stop to wonder why you were sick all those years? Why it felt like your life was ebbing slowly away because a part of you, as essential to you as a heart or a lung, was missing?"

"I was born that way. My—my mother died in childbirth..." He had killed his mother, he had as good as killed his father, he had killed Antonio whether or not his aim had been true… He should tell the Acquatis to get away from him soon, before his actions led to their deaths too.

"You were born with your soul sick for the sea," Sara said. "And they did not understand, and so they kept you from it, but in doing so they nearly brought about your death. Do you remember when you fell ill the winter after you met Antonio?"

"Sort of. I remember they told me I almost died, that I was saved by a Christmas miracle. I remember falling asleep, and then a long stretch of darkness, and then I woke up and—and Antonio was there…"

"He brought you a tonic," Imelda said, taking up the tale again. "A tonic that he bought from a woman who he thought was a hedge witch who used to frequent the docks of Naples—but she was no mere hedge witch, she was our mother, Stheno. She gave him an elixir of the sea to give to you, but she told him that there would be a price to pay."

"She told him he would die at sea," Sebastian whispered, feeling the bile rise in his mouth. "Oh god. _Oh god._ He traded his life for mine, didn't he? He traded his life for mine to—to _your mother!_" Suddenly there was a dagger in Sebastian's hand as he pinned Imelda up against a palm tree, his eyes glittering with rage.

Annette put a hand on his shoulder and pried the dagger from his fingers before he could act. "Antonio made his own choice. Our mother only followed the ancient laws, set down before time immemorial—_a life for a life_. For it to be any other way would disrupt the balance of the universe."

"But why me? Why am _I _the sea king? It doesn't make any sense."

The sisters exchanged a glance and all shrugged together as one.

"Why are we the daughters of Stheno?" Annette countered. "We do not know, but we must live with the hand that fate dealt us nonetheless. You are Sebastian di Napoli and the sea is yours to rule. When you are crowned, Sycorax's curse will fall from us and our powers will be fully restored."

"And will you be able to bring Antonio back then?" Sebastian growled through the tears that were trickling slowly down his cheeks. Strange, he didn't remember when he had started to cry, but now that the tears had started, they would not stop.

"Antonio was lost at sea," mused Imelda. "That means he would have gone to the Locker. If we had all three of us, and the pirate king, and a ship, and a willing crew… What was it that Stheno used to say, Annette?"

"_North by north and north again, two stars to the right and over the far edge of the world,_" Annette recited. "_That'll get you down to Poseidon's Graveyard, but it won't get you back._"

"What _does_ get you back?" Sara asked.

"You know, that's the part I never remembered."

"Let's go then!" Sebastian cried, dashing the tears from his eyes and starting for the ship before Sara's hand clamped down firmly on his uninjured shoulder.

"_La Tempesta_ isn't your ship, Sebastian. You cannot command where she goes."

Sebastian grimaced and shook off Sara's hand. "Araey has to go."

"No, he doesn't," the middle Acquati sister insisted. "Antonio means nothing to him. Araey will be going after Durant and the _Anjou_ as soon as the repairs on _La Tempesta _are finished."

"Leave it to me," Annette grinned. "We'll bring Antonio back, Sebastian. And you will rule the high seas and we will have our powers back again. Just be on board _La Tempesta_ when Araey summons the crew—and try to look like a king."


	10. Hoist the Colors

The Acquati sisters had waited a long, long time for this moment… The entire crew of _La Tempesta _was arranged in a loose circle around Cornelius Araey as the captain raged and spat against the Royal Navy. He listed the grievances they had heard a hundred times, hurling the names of all the men and women the British had slaughtered at the gathering to try and stir them into action, spittle flying from the corners of his mouth.

But the crew remained unmoved. They huddled together in small groups, still shocked by the brutal destruction they had witnessed the day before. _La Tempesta_ had been repaired in record time, thanks in large part to the Acquatis' swelling powers, but it would take much longer for the minds of the young crew to heal after watching the world explode around them in cannonfire and splintering wood.

"We must go after Durant!" Araey raged, stalking back and forth between the mainmast and the mizzenmast. "We must go after him now, while he is weak, and shatter him to pieces!"

Annette rose slowly to her feet and stepped into the center of the circle. "We have been chasing Durant for fifteen years now. How many men and women have we lost in your ceaseless war? We are one ship against the entire British Royal Navy. It is time to leave this senseless feud behind."

"Silence!" Araey roared. "I am your captain, and you will sail where I command you!"

"I will not be silent," Annette retorted, drawing herself up to her full height. "You have led too many to their deaths, Cornelius Araey. You have let your own desire for vengeance cloud your judgment. You no longer act in the best interests of your crew. I call for a vote."

Araey stopped in his pacing, his face contorting into an expression of pure fury. "How—how _dare_ you? Have you forgotten?" he snarled, reaching into the inside of his greatcoat to pull out three strands of braided hair. "You belong to me!" His fingers tightened around the talismans and Annette flinched as a flicker of pain ran through her side, but she stayed standing.

"Not anymore, Cornelius Araey. Our lives are our own once again."

"But I paid—"

"Yes, Araey," Sara spat, rising to her feet too and gesturing in the direction of the dumbstruck crew. "Tell them what you paid."

"Tell them," Imelda echoed her sisters. "Tell them how you went running to Sycorax when you discovered what we were. Tell them the bargain you made with her. Tell them how you agreed to let your own ship be cursed never to drop anchor until a man of the crew had died at sea and that those same men could never spend more than two nights away from the ship at a time, if in return Sycorax bound our powers and placed us in servitude to you. Tell them how you have been sending souls to Setebos and Davy Jones for fifteen years in exchange for keeping the daughters of Stheno with _La Tempesta_. Tell them how many innocent lives you bargained away in your bid for power."

"You thought you could rule the seas if you had us," Annette hissed. "And so you held us here against our wills. But Sycorax was not without mercy to the daughters of Stheno, for she knew the Gorgons of old, and she set the terms of our release. When the pirate king is crowned, we will go free."

Araey suddenly began to laugh. "You believe that? You believe that you've found your little pirate king? Go ahead then, crown him! See what happens! _La Tempesta_'s crew will still be cursed to die! One day Sycorax will take him, and then you'll be right back where you started!"

"Courage," Annette whispered in Sebastian's ear, and then she grabbed his hand and dragged him into the center of the circle with Araey and the Acquati sisters.

The captain's laughter doubled. "_That_ is you king?" he chuckled. "You must—"

"Sebastian di Napoli," Annette declared, silencing Araey with a glare. "Do you swear to give help the helpless, to protect the weak, to keep the seas free?"

"I swear," Sebastian said solemnly.

"Do you swear to rule with a just hand, to give due consideration to the counsels of others, to listen to all supplicants who seek your ear?" Sara asked.

"I swear," he repeated.

"Do you swear to uphold the ancient laws of the sea, to respect the gods and goddesses of old, and to bind none to your command against their will?" Imelda finished.

"I swear," Sebastian said a final time, and there was something cold and hard in his voice that Annette could not remember having heard before.

"Then by the power vested in us," the Acquati sisters chorused, "we crown you _rex maris, _king of seas and pirates and all those who sail free under the sky." As one, the three sisters lifted the bucket of water that had been sitting innocently on deck and emptied it over Sebastian's head without warning.

But Sebastian did not flinch as the icy water cascaded over him, drenching his hair and soaking him to the bone. He simply stood there on the deck, tall and proud and unmoving. The only sound onboard _La Tempesta_ was the steady dripping of the water that trickled from his hair and clothes to land in a small circle on the wood around him.

Then Captain Araey's laughter broke the silence. "_That _is how you would crown your king?" Araey scoffed. "That's nothing but a mummer's farce. Anyone could mutter some words and pour a bucket of water over some whoreson's head—"

"Silence," Sebastian growled. "It is not your place to speak now. Annette Acquati called for a vote, and a vote we shall have."

Annette allowed a smile to flicker across her face and swiftly tapped out a message to her sisters. _Ready the table and the rocks,_ the vibrations through the deck said, and Imelda hurried off to grab a small folding table and a box from the captain's quarters while Sara pulled out two bags of stones.

"If you wish to cast a vote for Cornelius Araey to remain captain, place a black stone in the box," Annette declared to the crew, opening the first bag and pulling out a smooth black rock. "If you wish to vote for Sebastian di Napoli, place a white stone in the box." She opened the second bag and showed the crew the pale rocks there, then placed both bags on the table Imelda had set up. "Fiorenzo, supervise the voting."

Fiorenzo adjusted the stones and box so that only he and the voter could see which stone was being cast, and the crew formed a solemn line in front of him. Annette and her sisters watched in triumph as one by one the sailors approached the box, and one by one they selected their tokens. If anything this afternoon was a farce, it was this vote. No matter what the outcome, the Acquatis had won. From the second that the water had touched Sebastian's head, Annette had felt the power surging through her veins again, prickling and aching like a limb that had long ago fallen asleep, but returning nonetheless.

When it came time for Annette to cast her token, she held her hand over the bag of white pebbles and watched in satisfaction as the stone rose to meet her hand. She placed it in the box with a satisfied smirk and strode over to Sebastian, who was still standing where the sisters had left him. Imelda and Sara cast their votes and came to stand by them too, and the four of them arrayed themselves across from Araey as Fiorenzo upended the box.

He hardly needed to count the tokens. A flood of white stones came pouring out, with scarcely a speck of black to be seen.

"Sebastian di Napoli is captain of _La Tempesta,_" Fiorenzo announced.

"This is an outrage!" Araey shrieked. "Who was it who pulled you out of the dungeons and stinking taverns where you'd been left to rot? Who was it who made you lords of the waters? Who was it who gave you food and safety and riches?"

Young Gin was the first to rise and point to the Acquatis. "It was them," she said, her voice trembling but carrying. "They found me, they cared for me, they taught me. You had nothing to do with it."

A murmur arose in the ranks of the crew, and one by one they moved to the Acquatis' side, forming an entire host that glared balefully across the deck at Cornelius Araey.

"This is mutiny! Munity of the worst degree! You're traitors, all of you!" Araey drew his sword and waved it frantically in front of him, a dangerous light in his eyes. "But especially _you_." Araey's sword came to rest on Sebastian's collarbone, and Annette watched with growing trepidation as the two men stared each other down.

Sebastian calmly pushed Araey's sword to the side and turned his back on the former captain. "Imelda, Sara, remove this man from my ship," he growled.

"With pleasure," Sara grinned.

Araey gave a wordless cry of rage and ran at Sebastian, sword held high, but Sebastian spun to face him and drew his pistol in one fluid movement. "God knows you deserve it," Sebastian murmured, his finger twitching on the trigger as he pressed the barrel of the gun to Araey's forehead. "But there is a better punishment for you. Imelda, Sara, send him to the shore and leave him there. His death will buy our passage back to Europe."

Imelda flicked her wrist, and a coil of rope shot up from the deck to bind Araey's arms to his side. Sara blew out softly through her lips, and a gust of wind pushed him back into one of the rowboats on the side of the ship. A sharp gesture from Annette's hand caused the ropes that held it in place to snap and sent the little boat hurtling down to the waters, taking the old captain with it.

"Raise the anchor!" Sebastian ordered, making his way up the quarterdeck stairs to the wheel. "Lower the sails! Imelda, take us back to Nassau. We'll resupply fully there, and then we're heading back across the Atlantic."

Annette tapped out a message to her sisters as she made her way to raise the anchor. _We have either made the best decision of our lives or a horrible, horrible mistake._

* * *

Aislinn Arrington and Charles Duffy were sitting together on the veranda of Commodore Durant's residence in Port Royal, sipping tea as the afternoon sun beat down on them and studiously ignoring the dim shape of Jay Durant that was vaguely visible through the big bay window as he paced back and forth across his study.

"So," Aislinn said, gingerly setting down her teacup and reaching for a biscuit. "What do we do now?"

"Well, Barlow is dead," Duffy sighed. "I guess that means someone else is going to get drowned and hexed in the near future."

"But he took out the pirate king, didn't he? I saw him take a man over the side of the ship with him when he got shot by that man who broke your nose."

Duffy reached up to touch his still-tender nose. "Sebastian di Napoli. I got the Commodore to sign his death warrant as soon as the _Anjou_ was out of the Kraken's Teeth."

Aislinn chuckled. "Seems a bit harsh for someone who just broke your nose."

"He's a pirate," groused Duffy. "And he attacked a British officer. Two, if you count Theo."

"Sebastian di Napoli…" Aislinn repeated, tasting the words. "Why does that name sound so familiar?"

Duffy shrugged his shoulders and downed his entire cup of tea in one gulp. "I'm sure Naples is swarming with Sebastians, it's a fairly common name after all—"

"Yes, but I could have sworn I read something just recently… That's it!" she cried, sitting up straight in her chair and snapping her fingers. "King Alonso's younger brother is a Sebastian di Napoli. He and Antonio, the ex-Duke of Milan, were just incarcerated for attempted regicide, but we got a letter the other day saying that they'd escaped—"

"Really, Arrington, you don't mean to suggest that a former Neapolitan prince broke my nose?"

Aislinn grinned a wolflike smile. "Have you seen how much Alonso is offering for him to be brought back to Naples?"

"Dead or alive?"

"Doesn't matter."

* * *

"Ouch," Sebastian hissed as Imelda peeled the bandage back from his shoulder. "You do know what you're doing, right?"

"Sara's normally the one in charge of first aid," Imelda muttered back, poking the healing flesh around where the bullet had passed clean through Sebastian's arm. "But she's up to her neck helping everyone else and trying to stop them all from dying of infections, so I volunteered to look after you."

Sebastian perched on the edge of the captain's bed like a bird about to take flight. It just didn't feel right, sitting in the captain's quarters. He should be belowdecks, in Antonio's hammock, not here with this carven mahogany bed bolted to the floor and this big glass window looking out over the endless waves… Antonio was out there somewhere, lying on the ocean floor—no, no, he couldn't let his mind wander down that path. The Acquatis had crowned him _rex maris_, they had made him a captain. He had to be strong for the crew, for little Gin and Edan and Alessandro. He couldn't let them see that he was breaking inside, shattering…

"You'll have a nice scar there," Imelda said, plastering a fresh poultice on his shoulder that took away the aching pain there for a few precious moments.

His first scar. What would Antonio have thought of that? Antonio had always had a knack for collecting scars, but none quite so impressive as the silvery line that scored his right cheek from just in front of his ear to the corner of his mouth. Sebastian still remembered the night that the Milanese boy had gotten that scar, when he had hauled himself through Sebastian's open window, only to collapse in a heap on the floor.

Sebastian had jumped up out of his bed and rushed to Antonio's side, rolling him over to find the other boy grinning sheepishly up at him through the mask of blood covering his face. Most of it originated from the nasty cut on his cheek, but somehow it had managed to spread across his head, matting his dark hair together in clumps, and the swelling had almost sealed his right eye shut.

_Hey, Seb_, Antonio had laughed weakly.

_Antonio!_ Sebastian had cried, hauling the other boy to his feet and slinging his arm around his shoulder so that he could help him limp over to his bed. _What happened to you? You've only been in Naples for a day!_

_Picked a fight with someone I probably shouldn't've—aahhhh_, Antonio had groaned in pain as he lowered himself gingerly onto Sebastian's bed. Sebastian hurried to arrange the pillows so that he was propped up in a sitting position against the headboard and tore off a strip of fabric, which Antonio held up to his cheek in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

_Let me see that, _Sebastian had ordered when it became clear the blood wasn't going to stop flowing anytime soon. When he peeled the bloody fabric away from Antonio's cheek, he saw that the skin was sliced neatly open from his ear to his jaw in a deep cut that could only have been made by a sword. _That's going to need stitches_.

Antonio had grimaced, but by that point he wasn't in a fit state to argue. His skin was ghostly pale under all the blood, and more than once Sebastian saw his eyes start to roll up into his head as he started to slip into unconsciousness.

_What do they teach you in Milan?_ Sebastian had groused as he grabbed a needle and a spool of thick thread from his dresser. He sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jar Antonio, and ran the needle through the candle on his bedside table to sterilize it. _And who were you even fighting?_ he'd continued as he threaded the needle.

_Gonzala_, Antonio had spat.

_And is she in just as bad a state as you are?_ Sebastian made sure that Antonio was keeping his eyes fixed on him as he brought the needle up near his face.

_Well, I mean, she's not exactly in the best shape, but I think I came off rather the worse—ARGH SHIT FUCK GODDAMMIT THAT _HURTS_!_ Antonio's spine arched in pain as Sebastian started drawing the needle and thread through his skin. _Are you sure you know what you're doing with that?_ he panted, the whites of his eyes showing wide as he glanced at the needle out of the corner of his eye.

Sebastian had sighed and rolled his eyes. _Trust me, 'Tonio._

_ You're going to ruin my beautiful face._

_ I'm trying to save your beautiful face. A scar is dashing and roguishly handsome. A pus-filled wound is just disgusting. And if I don't stitch this up, it's going to get infected and a whole hell of a lot more painful. Now let's get this over with. _Sebastian had straddled Antonio's chest then, sitting on top of him and pinning him to the mattress so that he couldn't move. _Tell me what happened, _Sebastian had commanded as he readied the needle for the second time.

Antonio mumbled something that was lost in a wordless shriek of pain as the needle punctured through his skin again. _Are you sure you know what you're doing?_ he'd repeated once Sebastian had drawn the stitch tight, sweat beading on his brow.

_Of course I know what I'm doing,_ Sebastian had replied, placing his free hand between Antonio's eyes and the sight of the needle going through his cheek. He saw no reason to mention that he had learned the art of surgery by studying old books in the library during his spare time and that he had only ever practiced on injured animals before. Antonio would just refuse to let him finish, but then he'd also refuse to go to a Neapolitan surgeon and the wound would turn sour. Better to tell Antonio a small half-truth than watch him suffer. _Now tell me what happened, 'Tonio._

Antonio flinched as the needle went through his skin, but he bit back his scream. _Gonzala said something_, he moaned in between stitches. _I took offense. I challenged her to a duel. She beat the shit out of me. _

_I thought you were the best fencer this side of the Mediterranean_, Sebastian had remarked, finishing up the final stitches as quickly as he could and knotting off the thread.

_I wasn't exactly sober. And Gonzala fights dirty._

_ What'd she say?_ Sebastian had asked as he snipped the thread off as close to Antonio's skin as he could.

Antonio reached up to touched the ridge of flesh and thread on his face before Sebastian swatted his hand away. _She—she said something,_ he'd muttered.

Rising from the bed, Sebastian put his sewing kit away and grabbed a cloth and a small dish of water. _What did she say?_ he had insisted as he settled back down next to Antonio and started gently sponging the dried blood off of his face.

Eyes cast down, Antonio had murmured, _She said—she called you a whey-faced cur. She said Naples would be better off without a cowardly, invalid prince. _

The bowl clattered out of Sebastian's hands and water splashed across the floor. _You got the everloving shit beaten out of you because your brother's friend said something nasty about me? I don't know whether I should be flattered or furious, 'Tonio. _Sebastian had laughed to cover the nervous flutterings in his stomach. It was common knowledge in Naples that Sebastian was nothing more than the sickly, useless spare heir—it was what he'd grown up hearing on the lips of every courtier and visiting dignitary. If Antonio was going to start taking offense every time someone insulted Sebastian, then he should probably track down those old surgery books again…

Antonio groaned and snatched Sebastian's wrist as he moved to pick up the bowl. _They shouldn't be talking about you like that. I couldn't let them talk about you like that. _

_Thank you_. _I appreciate it, I really do, but let's not make this a habit. _Sebastian's fingers danced playfully around the stitches on Antonio's face. _One scar is dashing. A whole patchwork of them just means you suck at fighting._

They'd had a good laugh then. Sebastian had always loved Antonio's laugh—not his snide little chuckle, but his full-bodied laugh, the one that shook him from his shoulders to his feet and boomed out of the cavity of his chest in great, rolling waves. It was a contagious laugh, one that always reduced Sebastian to fits of giggles within moments of hearing it. Once he had finally exhausted himself, he would curl up next to Antonio, his head on his chest, content in the simple feeling of the other man's chest rising and falling with his breathing.

Antonio never got any more scars on his face. He earned several on his arms though, and stumbled into a few on his chest. Sebastian could have found every single one of them in the dark and known the exact story behind each one. After all, he was the one who had cleaned them and sewn them and bandaged them.

At some point, it ceased to be a surprise when Antonio turned up in his room, battered and bleeding. Despite Sebastian's protests that Antonio needed to stop dueling every man and woman in Naples who could swing a sword, Antonio kept at it and Sebastian fell into a reluctant routine. If Antonio could still make it up the ivy and through the window, it wasn't too serious. If he came to the door, it was bad. Sebastian would help him to his bed and clean what needed cleaning, then stitch what needed stitching and bandage what needed bandaging, all the while lecturing Antonio on why it was unnecessary to keep challenging people to duels over trivial comments. Antonio would curse and swear and insist that it was absolutely necessary. Sebastian would roll his eyes and stroke the first silvery scar on Antonio's cheek, then fall asleep in his arms.

_Don't they ever wonder why your bed is never slept in when you're in Naples? _Sebastian had asked one morning, watching as Antonio rose stiffly from the bed, a livid bruise purpling on his shoulder.

_Father thinks I'm out drinking and carousing,_ Antonio had chuckled ruefully. _Sometimes I wish I were._

_That shoulder's still bothering you, isn't it?_

Antonio had groaned. _It's not so much my shoulder as my whole back._

_This is why you don't go around begging people twice your size to slam you into walls._ Sebastian had rolled his eyes and roused himself into a sitting position. _Come back here_, he had ordered, beckoning Antonio back to the bed.

_I thought _I _was supposed to be the one doctoring _you, Antonio had protested, but only meekly. Sebastian's fingers were kneading into his back by then, slowly but surely working all the tension and stiffness out of his spine.

_Hey, I only get sick,_ Sebastian had retorted, pressing his fingers harder into the knot at the base of Antonio's neck. _You're the one who gets the stuffing knocked out of himself. Who was it this time?_

_ Who do you think it was? _Antonio had moaned, flinching when Sebastian got too close to his bruised shoulder.

Sebastian had abruptly stopped massaging Antonio's back and crossed his arms across his chest. _Not Gonzala. Not again._

Antonio's silence was answer enough.

_Seriously, 'Tonio,_ Sebastian had sighed, rolling his eyes. _You need to stop antagonizing her._

She_ is antagonizing_ me_,_ Antonio had retorted, turning stiffly onto his side so that he could look Sebastian in the eye. His face was a mix of pain and exasperation and something else that Sebastian could not name, something that made his dark eyes sparkle in the early morning sunlight…

"Sebastian? Hey, Sebastian, are you okay?" The sound of Imelda's voice jerked Sebastian out of his memories and back into his battered, aching body.

"I'm fine," he lied smoothly, tugging his tunic back on over the new bandage on his shoulder. "Just… just tired."

Imelda arched her eyebrows in disbelief and sat down next to Sebastian. "You sure you're okay? If you ever want to talk about—"

"I don't," Sebastian snapped, flinching away from her arm and turning away from her abruptly. "I just need some time to rest."

"I'll wake you when we reach Nassau then," Imelda said as she rose from the bed and drifted towards the door. "We'll get him back, I promise," she added as she slipped out of the captain's quarters.

As soon as he heard the door close, Sebastian threw himself down on the captain's bed, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder, and started to sob. It began with a small trickle of tears, but within a few minutes it had escalated to shivering convulsions that wracked his whole body as the tears carved channels down his cheeks. Antonio was gone, and it was Sebastian's fault. If he'd been faster, if he'd been stronger, if he'd had better aim… If he was truly this _rex maris_ the Acquatis spoke of, shouldn't he have been able to save him? But he hadn't, he hadn't… Sebastian buried his face in the pillows, but still the tears came and he made no effort to stop them.

Sebastian must have cried himself to sleep, for the next thing he knew, he was blinking open salt-crusted eyes and squinting at the afternoon sunlight that came streaming in through the windows.

He had that vaguely infuriating sensation of knowing that he had been dreaming but not quite being able to remember what about. Salt water and tanned skin and sunlight on metal…

Whatever it had been, it had left him feeling oddly peaceful. Sebastian stretched and dashed the dried tears from his face, then rose to his feet and marched over to his trunk and flung open the lid. Someone, presumably one of the Acquatis, had moved everything from his old quarters into the battered box at the foot of the captain's bed. He buttoned up his doublet and shrugged on the short grey jacket, but once he had pulled them out, he saw the crimson sash at the bottom of the trunk.

Antonio's sash.

Fighting back a new flood of tears, Sebastian reached for the scrap of blood-red fabric. Antonio's scent still clung to it… As Sebastian buried his face in the sash, a scrap of paper drifted to the ground. It was so small and stained that he might have missed it, had it not landed on his boot. The pirate king knotted Antonio's sash around his waist, tucked his pistols into it, and picked up the piece of paper that bore Antonio's spiky handwriting.

_My dear Sebastian, _it read. _Should I die__—__Should something happen to me__—__Don't do anything stupid if I'm not around, okay? __You're__—__I told Imelda__—__Go sack Milan for me__—__Dammit why are words so hard__—__I love you. —Yours in life and death and whatever comes after, Antonio._

Sebastian carefully folded the note and slid it into the doublet pocket right over his heart.

"I love you too, 'Tonio," Sebastian murmured, seizing his cutlass and looking out the window to find that the shores of New Providence were rapidly approaching. "I love you, and I'm going to get you back, even if I have to sail beyond the edges of the earth to do it. I promise."


	11. I'll Send a Storm

"Is there a reason you asked me to meet you in the back of some dingy tavern? I thought we were supposed to be above this," Aislinn Arrington hissed, pulling the hood of her oilskin cloak down over her face and sliding onto the bench next to Duffy. "We're officers in the bloody Royal—"

"Shh! Not here!" Duffy muttered, slapping a hand across her mouth. "See that man over there—no, don't look at him! You know who that is, don't you?"

Arrington shook her head as Duffy removed his hand. "I've never seen him before."

"That's Maciomhair. He's a well-respected Scottish merchant, but he's also a huge supporter of the Acquatis. If we follow him for long enough, he'll lead us straight to the vipers' nest." Duffy's fingers drifted towards the pistol at his waist as the grey-haired merchant turned, as though he had heard his name mentioned clear across the tavern.

"Why don't we just arrest him then?" Arrington breathed, hunching over her tankard with her back to Maciomhair. "I've got a score of Sirens—"

"Because that," Duffy cut her off, "would be a disaster. Maciomhair would die before he knowingly betrayed the Acquatis, not to mention that he's never officially done anything wrong and arresting him would probably incite a riot back home. Plus a public arrest would lead to questions, and the fewer people who know about the reward, the fewer we have to split it with."

Arrington's gaze flickered over to the Scottish merchant. He had relaxed again and was in deep conversation with another older, bespectacled man. "Right. So we trail him, figure out where _La Tempesta_ went, track down Araey, Acquatis, and Company, somehow get ahold of this Sebastian di Napoli, and drag him back to Naples in chains." She scoffed and scowled into her ale. "There are so many holes in this plan you couldn't even make a decent fishing net out of it, Charles."

Lieutenant Duffy smirked at her as he finished his drink. "I'll remind you, I've sailed under Jay Durant. I've had quite a bit of practice with pulling off the impossible. In my experience, all you really need is an excess of gunpowder."

The Siren captain rolled her eyes and started muttering under her breath about the idiocies of men.

"Think of the money, though!" Duffy insisted. "That's more than two years of wages! We'd be rich!"

"We'd be rich and very, very dead," Arrington hissed, struggling to keep her voice low. "Because Durant would have our hides if we jumped ship to track Maciomhair, don't pretend for a second that he wouldn't. If we're going to do this, Lieutenant Duffy, we're going to do it _my_ way."

"And what would your way be?"

Arrington's lips curved up in a wicked smile. "You'll see."

* * *

Sara supervised the loading of the last few barrels of freshwater onboard _La Tempesta_ from the bench of a rowboat. "Put 'em belowdecks, on the starboard side," she yelled to Gin and Fiorenzo as they hauled the barrels up in a sling. It was a wretched pain to load several months' worth of supplies onto the ship without docking, but Sara respected Sebastian's decision not to drop anchor unless it was absolutely necessary. If all went well, they should be able to sail clear across the Atlantic without sending a soul to Setebos and Davy Jones.

"Aye, ma'am," Gin replied, snapping off a smart salute and beckoning to Edan and Alessando to start rolling the barrels away.

"And tell the captain that we'll be at The Bloody Theatre, if he'd care to join us for dinner." Sara watched as Fiorenzo dashed off to find Sebastian, then she spun the rowboat around and made for the shore. Sebastian had scarcely been seen outside his cabin since the vote—either he would make an appearance tonight or not, and there wasn't much any of the Acquatis could do about it.

She lashed the rowboat to a little-used dock on the outskirts of Nassau and leapt out, Daene at her side. Now that Araey and his irrational dislike of dogs were gone, the big mastiff would be able to sail with her overseas again. Sara picked a piece of driftwood up off the beach and tossed it into the waves, laughing as Daene jumped in after it and sent up significant plumes of water with her massive paws. The mastiff returned the stick to her without even bothering to shake the water off of her coat, already anticipating that Sara would throw the stick out to sea again as she walked. And so in such a fashion, pirate and dog made their way into town.

Imelda and Annette had already procured their usual table at the back of The Bloody Theatre when Sara entered, sweeping aside the tattered red curtain that served as a door. Daene, sufficiently tired from their game of fetch, curled up around Sara's chair with the Eduardo perched on her back.

"Do you think he'll come?" Sara asked, nodding towards the extra place that had been set for Sebastian.

"Who knows," Annette shrugged. "I haven't seen him since the vote."

"He's hurting," Imelda defended the new captain, viciously swatting Medraut's beak away from her salad. "I will roast that thing, I swear I will, Annette. And I will savor every bite."

"Savage," the raven _quorr_ed, glaring at the eldest Acquati sister through beady black eyes.

Annette shushed her bird and tossed him a scrap of her chicken. "Of course he's hurting, he got shot in the shoulder. He'll get over it."

"You know what I mean." Imelda shifted her glare from her sister's bird to her sister herself.

"Yes, yes, I know. Antonio. And I will do everything in my power to get us down to Davy Jones' Locker so we can get him back, but first we must return to Sycorax's Island to free the rest of the crew. Then we can go after Antonio, then I expect we shall be going after Durant and the Sirens again. This won't end until they're all dead, will it?"

Sara sighed and drained her tankard. "And then the British will raise up a new Commodore and the whole cycle will start over again. Personally, I say we split with _La Tempesta_ once we get Antonio back to Sebastian. Let them hunt down the Royal Navy on their own if they so desire."

"Split with _La Tempesta_ and do what?" Annette retorted. "We've a quarrel with Durant too, in case you've forgotten. Besides, Sebastian will be a better captain that Araey ever was. He'll listen to us."

"He's also young, inexperienced, and half mad." Sara slammed her empty tankard down on the table, making Daene jump. "He might be the bloody pirate king, but that doesn't change the fact that he's never captained a ship before and this is only his second voyage outside of Naples in his whole life. He knows nothing of the world."

"He will learn," Imelda stated.

"How can he learn when he locks himself in his cabin?" Sara turned on her older sister. "He's useless without Milan."

The man at the table next to them, who had been rather inconspicuous up to that point as he hunched over his drink with a dark cloak draped around his shoulders, slowly rose to his feet and pushed back his hood to reveal the gently curling hair and piercing grey eyes of none other than Sebastian di Napoli.

"There was a time when I would have agreed with you," he growled as Sara struggled to gulp down her embarrassment. "But I know more than you credit me with," he continued, taking a seat next to Annette. "I know that Sycorax is dead, defeated at the hands of Prospero of Milan. I know she left behind a son, more a beast than a man, who goes by the name of Caliban. I know there is a power that still resides on that island, some rare archaic magic—"

"How—"

"I've been there. I've been to Sycorax's Island, Prospero's Island, whatever you call it now. My brother's ship was blown off course on our way back from Tunis and we ended up shipwrecked there. Turns out Antonio's brother, Prospero, had fled there with his daughter twelve years ago after he was kicked out of Milan. There were—there were strange things that happened on that island…" Sebastian drifted off into silence, the three sisters staring intently at him. "There was music, and a feast, and three harpies… There was something, I almost remember it… Someone speaking to me, accusing me, but there's this fog in my mind when I try to think about it…"

The sisters shared a knowing glance. "It sounds as though you were spelled," Imelda finally said.

"But—"

"It must have been Prospero. You said he was bookish?" Annette pressed, and Sebastian nodded. "There are many old texts in Milan. Is it not beyond the realm of possibilities that he found something there, something he took with him to the island and could have used to best Sycorax and enslave her spirits, and then to cloud you memories in turn?"

"I—I guess so." Sebastian looked taken aback. "But Prospero never knew magic before his exile. Antonio would have known if he did. He would have told me."

Sara glanced at her sisters, and at their nods she began to speak again. "There are some magics that only work in certain places or under certain conditions. Like all the things we can do on _La Tempesta_—the communicating through vibrations in the deck and the moving rope by twitching our fingers and the manipulating the sails with our thoughts—we can only do that on _La Tempesta_ because the ship itself is designed to magnify magical abilities." Sara glanced covertly over her shoulder and lowered her voice considerably before continuing. "There's a certain type of lumber, called chauvetwood, that conducts magic especially well. It's incredibly rare—I don't want to know who Araey had to murder to get enough to build _La Tempesta_, but thank the gods he was so devoted to making her an exact replica of _Tyger's Heart_."

"So _Tyger's Heart_—the _Anjou—_is also made of chauvetwood?" Sebastian asked. "Why? What would the Navy want with a magic-conducting ship? Couldn't that be kind of dangerous in the wrong hands?"

"It was a mage ship. A hundred years ago when she was first launched, the Royal Navy had at least one wizard at sea at all times," Annette explained. "Of course, by the time Araey got her, the wizards were long gone and scarcely an officer was left alive who remembered them. To the best of our knowledge, _La Tempesta_ and the _Anjou_ are the only two mage ships still afloat. I don't know if Aislinn Arrington even knows what her ship is capable of."

Sebastian glanced from one sister to the next and finally slammed his empty tankard down on the table. "Why are you telling me all of this?"

"I don't know," Imelda said with a sarcastic edge to her voice. "Why _are_ we telling him, Sara?"

"Because we're about to sail back to the island haunt of Sycorax's ghost, and from there through the ice fields and over the northern edge of the world," growled Sara. "We have to trust each other if we want to make it through this all, and trust means no more secrets. So if any of you have anything to confess, I highly suggest that you spit it out now."

* * *

"Still no word of them?"

"None. It's been over three months, your majesty. I think it's time to accept that they are gone, for better or for worse."

"I know what you thought of him," King Alonso of Naples said, leaning heavily against the battlements as he stared out over the bustling harbor of his city. "But he was my little brother. Oh, I hated him at times, but I think there was a part of me that always saw him as sickly little Sebastian, waiting for Death to come and swoop him up."

Prospero's spine stiffened, his royal blue cloak fluttering around him in the sea breeze. "I—I did not hate your brother. Nor did I hate my own, despite what you think," he growled in response to the disbelieving arch of Alonso's eyebrows. "Antonio and I had our differences, but—as you said—he was my little brother. Always picking fights with people who were bigger and stronger than he was, always getting beaten up…" His voice trailed off as a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Oh, how he and Gonzala used to fight…"

"If you loved him so much, then why did you insist that I throw him in the dungeon after Miranda and Ferdinand's wedding?" Alonso retorted, less angry at having to lock Antonio up than he was at being forced to put Sebastian down there. It hadn't weighed easy on him to send Sebastian down into that damp, dark cesspit, knowing it was only a matter of time before he fell ill with no one but Antonio to care for him… He would never admit it to Prospero, but he was glad that the pair had escaped when they did. At least they stood a chance now.

The Duke of Milan sighed and pulled his cloak closer around his shoulders. "They committed high treason. They tried to kill me, they tried to kill you… Who's to say they wouldn't have put Miranda and Ferdinand in danger next? I cannot speak for Sebastian, but Antonio cannot be trusted. There is too much at stake in this union of Milan and Naples for me to allow my half-mad brother and his wheezing sidekick to destroy it."

A lone gull cried plaintively overhead as the King of Naples stroked his neatly trimmed beard and turned away from the cold fury of his duke. "Do you not wonder what happened to them? Where they went?"

"Doubtless Antonio is drowned—the idiot never learned to swim—and your brother caught some illness or another. I am, quite frankly, surprised that he survived so long."

"What if they're still out there though? What if they come back?" Alonso would not mention to Prospero that Sebastian _did_ come back, every midnight in his nightmares. _I was your brother, _the skeletal figure would whisper with his gaunt cheeks and staring eyes as he reached out a bony hand for the king. _I was your brother and you let me die. Why?_

Prospero shrugged his narrow shoulders. "It gives me no pleasure to say it, but they would have to be thrown back in prison. My brother is dangerous, your majesty. For the safety of Naples and Milan, he must be put under lock and key if the sea has not taken him already."

"What happened to him, Prospero?" Alonso asked, crossing his arms firmly across his chest and turning to glare at the Duke of Milan. "I remember him when he was young. He was one of the best fencers I'd ever seen—a bit grim maybe, with a rather dry sense of humor, but a good man. I offered him a position as Captain of the Guard, but he turned me down and asked for an army to take Milan with instead."

"And you gave it to him."

"Yes, but I thought we had put that behind us," Alonso sighed. "I made a mistake. I have apologized and remedied it as well as I can, what more would you have of me?"

"I would have you send out search parties after them. I would have you put a bounty on their heads. I would have you bring them back here. Ariel told me—" Prospero broke off abruptly and glanced out to sea before continuing in a calmer voice. "There was a time when I would have let them go and left them to their own fates, but that time has passed. Those two still have a part to play, perhaps a bigger part than we ever realized, and you have no idea how nervous that makes me."

"But what happened to him?" Alonso repeated. "Good men, men like Antonio used to be, they don't just _turn_ like that."

The Duke of Milan groaned and rolled his eyes. "Antonio had too much ambition to ever be a 'good' man. Maybe he wasn't always a 'bad' man, but it was only a matter of time before something made him snap."

The gull settled on the battlements next to Alonso as he glanced away from Prospero and out to sea. He remembered the young Antonio. He remembered him dueling Gonzala in the courtyard when she insulted Sebastian. He remembered him drinking in the barracks with the soldiers and making them laugh with his bawdy jokes. He remembered him sitting by the side of Sebastian's sickbed, mumbling prayers and berating the doctors for not doing enough. The Antonio that Alonso had known had not been some craven, power-hungry fiend. The two of them might not have always been on the best of terms, but there was some degree of mutual respect between them, if only on Alonso's part because his little brother always seemed to do better when Antonio came visiting. But the king held his peace and waited for Prospero to answer his question.

"Fine," Prospero finally barked out. "I don't know for sure—Antonio and I were never exactly on great speaking terms—but I'm starting to suspect it had something to do with Sebastian."

It was Alonso's turn to roll his eyes in despair. "Well of course it had something to do with Sebastian."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Prospero shot back.

Alonso chuckled deep in his throat. "Oh come on, Pros. Tell me you never noticed the way Antonio would always throw Sebastian behind him when things looked like they were going to turn nasty. Tell me you never saw him fixing Sebastian's shirt collar. Tell me you never picked up on that expression on his face when he thought Sebastian couldn't see him."

"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting—"

"Our brothers have been sleeping together since they were teenagers. They haven't exactly been subtle about it, Pros. Really, I'm rather stunned you hadn't figured it out—"

"I was marooned on an island for twelve years—"

"They were at it before that. Now what did you say to Antonio about Sebastian? He stayed with us in Naples for a summer and he was the same as he had always been, but then he went back to Milan and the next time I saw him, he was asking me for an army."

Prospero grimaced. "I—I told him it was about time he married and that I was going to start looking for a good, strategic wife. Preferably one with a good enough family to secure some sort of alliance, but not one with enough power to plant any ideas in Antonio's head. He didn't seem too thrilled, so I might have, uh, read him the riot act about how I was his brother and his duke and he would marry whoever I thought was best for him… God, Alonso, I feel so stupid…" Prospero had the presence of mind to bury his head in his hands and look suitably embarrassed. "Was it really that obvious?" he murmured, peeking up in disgrace.

"Yes."

"And—and you think that's why he turned on me? Because he thought I was going to force him to marry some Venetian duchess' second daughter? But that doesn't explain why he tried to get Sebastian to kill _you_. What did you say to him in Tunis?"

It was Alonso's turn to sigh over his stupidity. "Sebastian and I haven't always been on the best of terms either. We might have exchanged a few heated words before Claribel's wedding. And Antonio and I haven't always agreed over certain aspects of our military alliance." But he knew that it was the angry words he had thrust in Sebastian's face that had really provoked them. Alonso blushed to remember the accusations he had thrown out.

_You are here as a translator, nothing more,_ Alonso had spat, shaking Sebastian by the shoulders in the privacy of the guest chambers of the Tunisian palace. _You are here because you speak Arabic and Turkish. That means you must be _around_ when I need you and not off wandering in some pile of old stones._

_ Those "old stones" were the remnants of a temple to Neptune—_ Sebastian had started to say before Alonso cut him off with a vicious chopping motion of his hand.

_We are here to marry Claribel to the Tunisian prince, not to go poking around Roman ruins. I had to face an entire delegation of Tunisian nobles at lunch today and made a complete fool of myself trying to communicate with them! I am the King of Naples, Sebastian. Carrying on entire conversations in mime is beneath me. _Alonso had felt his anger start to subside when he saw Sebastian's gaze drop to the floor and his shoulders hunch, but then he saw the dirt on his cheeks and the stone dust in his hair and the anger flared up again. _Goddammit, Seb,_ he had hissed, _I'm trying to give you a chance to do something useful with your life for once. Could you at least make an attempt not to fuck it up?_

_ I—I'm sorry,_ Sebastian had stammered, still not looking at his brother's face. _I just—_

_ I don't want your excuses! I want you to be where you're supposed to be, when you're supposed to be there. I want you to contribute something to this family other than death._

His younger brother's shoulders had stiffened at that, and Alonso had almost regretted letting the words slip past his lips. But it could not be unsaid, and the king had no choice but to plow on.

_You're thirty-one years old, Sebastian, and you've done nothing other than kill our mother in childbirth and murder our father by heartbreak and generally be a useless invalid. It's high time you made an effort to make something of yourself. You're deadweight, Sebastian, you have been for years. Do you have any idea how much Father and I have had to drain out of the treasury to pay for all of your doctors? And when have you ever done anything for Naples?_

That, at last, had roused some emotion out of the thin man. _I didn't ask to be this way! I didn't ask to be some broken, sickly thing! And I'm sorry, Alonso, I'm sorry I'm such a burden, but what can I do? If I could change who I am, I would have done it years ago! If you think I'm more trouble than I'm worth, then why don't you just send me to Milan and be done with it!_

That old argument again. _Because Antonio has to rule that city and all its rabble and he doesn't have time to play nursemaid to you, _Alonso had growled for what felt like the hundredth time. _How long do you think he would love you if he knew what a burden you are?_

_ He doesn't—_

_ I'd bet it wouldn't be long. Truthfully, I'm amazed he hasn't gotten sick of you and your incessant coughing and your runny noses and your wheezing and your fevers and your vomit yet. God knows, I'm your own brother and I was sick of it before you'd reached your sixth birthday. You're like a walking curse, Sebastian._

And the worst part of it then was that Sebastian hadn't said anything back. He had just hung his head and turned his back on Alonso, then started to walk slowly out of the room.

_Seb—_ Alonso had begun to call out to him, pull him back, tell him he didn't mean it, but the words died in his throat. He _had_ meant it. Sebastian had never done anything of worth to Naples.

"We are both responsible for our brothers' actions," Alonso sighed, wrenching himself back to the present. "And so we are both responsible for whatever comes next."

"Your majesty?" queried Prospero. "You speak as though you know something of what will come to pass."

Alonso shook his head and pointed out to sea at the bank of thunderheads massing on the horizon. "All I know is that there is a veritable tempest out there, and it's heading this way. Go back to Milan, Prospero, and get ready to face this storm when it comes."

The king and the duke began to make their way down from the battlements and the ominous sight of the iron grey clouds. If they had stayed but a moment longer, they would have seen the gull that Alonso had been watching take flight and soar straight for the woman on the docks with the hissing hair.


	12. Just One Yesterday

"And how do you know that _La Tempesta_ is bound back for Europe so quickly?"

Arrington and Duffy shared a quick glance before presenting Commodore Durant with a tattered piece of paper.

"This is a list of shipping transactions from one of the best ships in the East India Trading Company." Durant made ready to tear the paper in half before Duffy reached out a hand to stop him.

"Milord! Let me explain." The young lieutenant extricated the paper from Durant's hands and spread it on the table before the commodore. "This is a log of Michael Maciomhair's trading expeditions. Maciomhair is an incredibly profitable merchant who's been feeding the Acquati sisters information about the movements of the British fleet for years. I've been keeping tabs on him, and every time before _La Tempesta_ sets off across the Atlantic, he runs this same pattern around the Caribbean—New Providence, Port Royal, Havana, Turks and Caicos—to check on the whereabouts of ships like the _Chorister _and the _Anjou_ before telling the Acquatis that the coast is clear."

Arrington presented the commodore with another piece of paper, this one containing the coordinates of the Royal Navy's main ships in the Caribbean. "None of these ships were in place to stop _La Tempesta _from setting off for Europe unhindered."

"Lieutenant Arrington, you've just been promoted from privateer captain to a full officer in the Royal Navy. Have the _Anjou_ supplied for a transatlantic voyage by sunset. Duffy, I'm promoting you to commander. Go down to the shipyard and see to it that the _Chorister, Oliver_, and the _Cursed Yank _are ready to sail with the Sirens. His Majesty has given orders to smoke these rebels out for good."

Arrington and Duffy snapped off a pair of smart salutes as Commodore Durant rose from his chair and marched quickly out of the room. As soon as the door closed, they shared a decidedly unprofessional chuckle.

"We're going to be bloody rich."

* * *

The summer that Sebastian turned eighteen, Antonio was shipped off to Naples for several months—ostensibly so that he could continue his fencing studies with a better teacher, but in reality because Prospero's daughter, Miranda, had just been born, and Antonio's brother wanted an excuse to remove his troublesome younger sibling from Milan for a time.

Sebastian was not about to complain. Usually Antonio only stayed in Naples for a few days or maybe a week at a time, but this year they would have a whole glorious summer together.

_Sebastian!_ Antonio had bellowed when he arrived in the dead of night, hours ahead of his escort, throwing open the door to Sebastian's chambers and sweeping him up into a bone-crushing bear hug.

_Put me down, you oaf,_ Sebastian had gasped. _You'll break something_.

Sheepishly, Antonio had lowered him back down to the floor again. After the usual exchange of questions whereby Antonio determined that Sebastian had not suffered any life-threatening illnesses in his absence and Sebastian determined that Antonio hadn't done anything life-threateningly stupid, Sebastian had grabbed Antonio's wrist and dragged him out to his balcony overlooking the harbor of Naples.

_There are supposed to be shooting stars tonight_, he'd said, dousing the torches and plunging the balcony into darkness.

The two of them stood side by side, gazing up into the night sky as tiny flecks of light tumbled down to earth as the stars burned and fell.

"_When beggars die there are no comets seen,"_ Antonio had murmured, slipping his hand into Sebastian's. "_The heavens themselves blaze for the death of princes."_

_Where's that from?_ Sebastian had asked, resting his head on Antonio's shoulder. _That's much too elegant for you_.

Antonio had smiled and ruffled Sebastian's hair playfully. _It's from a play that came to Milan. _Julius Caesar._ Written by some English bloke, not half bad if you ask me. Pros practically worships him._

_ How is the bookworm? And his new daughter?_

_ Fine, fine,_ Antonio had shrugged. _Pros isn't exactly popular, but everyone seems to be pretty much okay with his wife and Gonzala running the duchy while he reads. Miranda eats and cries and burps, so I guess she's good._

Sebastian had sensed Antonio gradually drawing in on himself and put a gentle hand on his arm. _What is it, 'Tonio? Something's on your mind._

With a muffled grunt of rage, Antonio had slammed his fist into the balcony's stone railing. _I guess Morandi, my old fencing teacher, was right all along. I've nothing to live by but my sword. Now that Prospero has an heir, he has no use for a younger brother. I wouldn't be surprised if he kicked me out of Milan before the year's out._

_Come to Naples,_ Sebastian had said, wrapping his arms around Antonio's shaking form. _Who needs Milan?_

_ I do, Seb. I do. I know that city ten times better than Prospero ever will. I'm the one who walks the streets at night, I'm the one who organizes the guards, I'm the one who trains the militia. I was fifteen years old when my father died and left Prospero in charge, but I was the one who held Milan together. That city is in my blood, Seb. I can't just turn my back on it._

_ Then don't. Stay. Fight for what is yours. _

Antonio answered by returning Sebastian's embrace and pulling them closer together. His lips were warm and hungry as he pressed them to Sebastian's, and Sebastian opened his mouth and leaned into Antonio's lithe form. He could feel his fencer's muscles taught under his thin summer tunic as his hands drifted towards Antonio's waist. Without pausing for a breath, Antonio backed Sebastian up against the archway to the balcony, nipping playfully at Sebastian's lower lip and grinding their hips together.

By the time they finally broke apart, gasping for air, Sebastian's fingers were so knotted into Antonio's shirt that he feared he had ripped it. Not that ripping it would necessarily have been a bad thing if it meant that Antonio would have to take it off…

_Come to Milan_, Antonio had breathed against Sebastian's neck. _Come back with me_.

_You know I can't,_ Sebastian had whispered back.

_But why?_ And then Antonio had glanced up at Sebastian, and Sebastian had glanced down at Antonio, and without Sebastian ever quite realizing how it had happened, they quit the balcony and ended up in the big four-poster bed together.

_Well, first of all_, Sebastian had said as he toyed with Antonio's hair, _Prospero hates me._

_Fuck Prospero,_ Antonio had growled, calloused hands fiddling with the laces on Sebastian's doublet.

_I'd rather fuck you_, Sebastian had murmured and immediately felt his face flush bright red. _Oh god, I didn't actually say that out loud, did I? I—_

But Antonio had cut him off with a kiss. _I mean, if we're going to take that literally, I'd much prefer that too. _And then Sebastian was scrabbling with Antonio's doublet and Antonio was tearing Sebastian's tunic off and tossing it on the floor.

_My god, Seb, _Antonio had gasped when he saw Sebastian's bare chest. _You're skin and bones—are you okay?_

Sebastian's collarbones protruded sharply from his chest, his arms were stick thin, almost every rib was outlined against his skin… _I—I've been sick, _Sebastian had stammered. _I told you earlier. Nothing serious, just—_

_ Come on, we're going to the kitchens, _Antonio had cut him off, snatching his tunic back up off the floor and pressing it into his arms.

_But—_

_Now,_ Antonio had insisted, lacing his doublet back up and combing his hair back into place with his hand. _We will continue this when you don't look like a walking skeleton anymore. _

_ But the kitchens aren't even open this time of night,_ Sebastian had protested meekly as Antonio took his arm and led him from the room.

Antonio stopped in the middle of the corridor and put his hands on Sebastian's shoulders. _You are a prince, Sebastian. You are a prince of Naples. We are in _your_ palace. If you want to go the kitchen or the storeroom and get some food, no one can stop you. Now let's go._

Down to the storerooms they went, flitting past the inebriated guard with his bottle of brandy, and Antonio sat Sebastian down in a corner and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders after instructing him to wait there while he scavenged for something.

While Antonio looked for food, Sebastian had a good few minutes to pull his racing mind back together. Had they actually been about to go down the road he thought they were? Antonio's muscles gleaming in the moonlight, the sensuous curve of his lips, the sleek dark hair falling roguishly across his eyes… He was too perfect, too _alive_ for Sebastian to mean anything to him. What had he ever done to merit a lover like Antonio? He was just a sickly, worthless second son. One day Antonio would realize that…

_Seb?_ Antonio had queried, crouching down next to him with a loaf of bread in one hand and a basket of fruit in the other. _Seb, are you okay?_

_I—I— _Sebastian had stammered, grabbing an apple from Antonio and sinking his teeth into it to avoid answering the question.

Antonio hadn't said anything. He had just dropped to the floor next to Sebastian and ripped off a chunk of bread. For a long time, there was no sound but that of crunching apple and munching bread.

_I'm sorry, _Sebastian had finally said. _I'm sorry I'm always so sick and you're stuck looking after me. I'm sorry you have to worry about whether or not I'll die before you come back to Naples again. I'm sorry I can't go with you to Milan, or even on an overnight hunting trip. I'm sorry I can't seem to do anything right. I'm sorry—_

_ Well I'm not sorry, so quit feeling so bad about it. _And Antonio had wrapped his arms around him as Sebastian sobbed quietly into his shoulder. _Seb…_ Antonio had whispered into his hair. _Sebastian di Napoli, I swear that I do not regret a moment that I have spent in your company._

"Do you regret it now?" Sebastian asked the wind, staring up at the midnight sky as _La Tempesta_ plowed steadily eastwards. He leaned up against the railing, hair whipped back by the breeze, lost in memory.

They were halfway across the Atlantic, and Sebastian felt more at home and more lost than he had ever felt before. On the one hand, there was the rocking deck beneath his feet and the salt spray in his face, chasing away the last of his old illnesses. For the first time in his life, Sebastian felt strong. The crew obeyed him without question, the ship hummed under his hand, the sea air filled his lungs to brimming… And yet, on the other hand, he had never been so alone. There was a gaping hole in his heart, an aching emptiness at his side where Antonio should have been. The Acquatis reassured him daily that they would find a way to return Antonio to the realm of the living, but how long would that take and what price would he have to pay?

Sebastian's attention was suddenly drawn up to the crow's nest by the harsh call of a raven. He glanced from the sea to the rigging and back again before slowly stepping away from the rail and beginning the long climb up to the crow's nest.

"Captain," Annette greeted him, tossing him a lazy salute from where she lounged against the mast. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Sebastian vaulted lightly over the railing to the small platform, slightly impressed at the speed with which he had clambered up the rigging. "I have a favor to ask of you." He flinched back as the raven plummeted down out of the sky to land next to him, studying him with intelligent black eyes.

The youngest Acquati sister gestured for him to continue.

"Teach me how to fight. Teach me how to win," he clarified. "Antonio taught me as much as he could, but I was sick in Naples and I couldn't practice for long. Antonio died because I couldn't protect myself from the Perseid—never again, though. Teach me how to fight humans and monsters alike so I never lose another whom I love."

"Why come to me?" was all Annette said.

Sebastian gritted his teeth and steeled himself to meet her ancient gaze. "Because you do not pity me as Imelda does, nor do you fight by any code of honor as Sara does."

"Because I'm heartless and ruthless." Annette chuckled. "You will never be either of those things, Sebastian di Napoli, no matter how well I teach you. But I will try."

* * *

Commodore Durant stood at the helm of the newly repaired _Chorister_, the brass buttons on his uniform polished to a blinding shine and every piece of fabric impeccably aligned. The staccato rapport of his boots rang out against the deck as he strode to the railing, spyglass in hand, and extended the bronze instrument to view the pitiful figure on the island.

A man with lank grey hair and tattered clothes was waving his hands frantically over his head, trying to catch the ship's attention—as though the half-mile-high smoke plume hadn't already.

"Do we stop, Commodore?" Duffy asked.

The black-haired officer smiled viciously and collapsed his spyglass. "Send a rowboat out to pick him up."

A few minutes later, the luckless man was dragged aboard Durant's flagship in chains and forced to his knees in front of the commodore, whose grin never wavered as he tipped back the filthy head with the toe of his boot and smirked into the grimy face of Cornelius Araey.

"It seems your ship has sailed without you, Captain," Durant purred, leveling his pistol at his old friend's head. "Unless perchance it has sunk, in which case no ship should go down without her captain."

Araey pointedly ignored the gun and rose to his feet to look Durant in the eye. "They mutinied on me, the bloody bastards! Those wretched Acquati sisters tossed me overboard and put some Neapolitan whelp in charge of _La Tempesta_!" The old captain was quite literally spitting with rage. "They left me to die on that island! Two weeks I've been stranded there, living off coconuts and rain water! Give me that pistol you're so carelessly pointing at me, Jay, and I will gladly finish off the lot of them for you."

Durant's grin widened as he glanced from the gun to the former pirate captain. "What's this, Cornelius? The man who couldn't bring himself to rain hell on Nassau is begging to be welcomed back into the navy so he can send his own ship down to Davy Jones?"

"Not my ship, you son of a maggot," Araey spat. "My ship's filthy crew. I want _La Tempesta _back under my command."

"You're not exactly in a position to be making demands like that at the moment," Durant remarked, his finger tightening on the pistol's trigger.

"Fine, fine. Take _La Tempesta_ for yourself if you will, but send the Acquatis and their bloody pirate king to the Locker, will you?"

The commodore dropped his gun and wrapped his fingers around Araey's throat. "What did you say?" he hissed. "The Acquatis and _what_?"

"Captain Sebastian di Napoli, _rex maris_."

Durant whirled on Duffy and Arrington behind him. "You told me the pirate king was dead!"

The newly appointed commander dropped his gaze to his highly polished boots and his trembling hands. "I—I thought Barlow took the king over the side of the ship with him."

"Well, clearly you thought wrong!" Durant raised Araey to his feet, ripped the bars off of Duffy's jacket, and passed them to Araey. "Stheno's daughters have their full powers back and the pirates have a king who can actually command them. We have to run them down before King George hears of this, or he'll have all our heads."

Araey was still staring at the metal bars in his hand. "Does this mean what I think it means?"

"Welcome back to the Royal Navy, Commander Araey."


	13. A Ghost in the Fog

The Strait of Gibraltar sparkled in the noonday sun, the mountains of Spain rising to the north and the mountains of Morocco looming to the south as _La Tempesta _crossed over from the waters of the Atlantic to the Mediterranean. Imelda balanced on the bowsprit, her bare toes curled around the carved chauvetwood and the sea spray blowing up into her face as she beckoned the wind down to fill the ship's sails. They had made the crossing in record time, thanks in no small part to the Acquatis' reinstated gift of directing storms around _La Tempesta._

"We'll be at Sycorax's Island before you know it!" she called back to Sebastian, who was standing on the safety of the solid deck a few feet behind her.

"And how do you suppose we're going to lift the witch's curse if she's twelve years dead and gone?" the new captain shouted back over the roar of the wind.

_How exactly _do_ we plan on doing that? _Imelda tapped through the wood to Annette in the crow's nest and Sara at the helm.

_We'll think of something,_ Annette sent back.

_We always do,_ Sara added. _And tell Sebastian to get back here so he can take the wheel for a bit. He needs to practice._

The eldest of the Acquati sisters spun on her tiptoes, her loose shirtsleeves flaring out in the breeze and her mess of hair flying free of her ponytail. "We're Stheno's daughters, the queens of the sea," Imelda grinned. "Trust me, we'll get this all sorted out now that Araey's gone. And Sara wants you at the helm. Something about practicing your steering."

Sebastian shook his head, and Imelda thought for a moment that she almost caught a hint of a smile on his face. "I still don't get how you do that whole 'talking through wood' thing."

"I'm not entirely sure how we do it either," Imelda confessed. "We just, well, speak in vibrations. We've always been able to do it on _La Tempesta_."

"You three are weird."

"Tell me about it. Annette actually likes ravens. Who likes ravens? They're the most annoying birds ever."

A harsh caw and a furious humming were heard as Medraut plummeted down from the mast to chase the Eduardo through the sails until the glittering mass of hummingbirds turned on him and sent him scrambling back to the protection of Annette's shoulder.

"Excuse you," Annette shot back. "Do you pay attention to your hummingbirds at all? They swarm all over the place with their pointy little beaks—"

"At least they're pretty—"

"Are you calling Medraut ugly—"

"Shut it, both of you!" Sara yelled from the helm. "Clearly dogs are better than ravens and hummingbirds."

Imelda and Annette were silent for a long moment.

"Yeah," Annette muttered reluctantly.

"Yeah, they are," agreed Imelda, stepping lightly from the bowsprit back to the main deck and gently shoving Sebastian towards the helm. "Go learn how to steer your ship, Captain."

Sebastian's face flushed red as he stumbled over the pile of ropes next to him and picked his way carefully back to the wheel and the short Gorgon woman standing there. "It's not my ship though," he protested as Sara relinquished the wheel to him.

"It _is_ your ship," Imelda insisted. "You're the pirate king."

"And don't give us that crap about you not wanting to be the pirate king," Sara said as Sebastian started to open his mouth. "You love it. Everyone can tell."

"I'll love it once we get Antonio back and the curse is lifted from _La Tempesta_."

"Fair enough." Imelda unrolled a large map of the Mediterranean and proceeded to stare at it intently. "Remind me again how we get to the Sycorax's Island?"

Annette rolled her eyes, plucked the map from Imelda's hands, turned it around, and stabbed her finger at a dot southeast of Italy. "We'll be there before you know it. We'll lift the curse, and then it's north by north by north and over the edge of the world."

* * *

"What is the meaning of this, Prospero?" Alonso growled, waving the tattered piece of parchment furiously under the duke's nose.

"_To His Majesty the King of Naples,_" Prospero read aloud, seizing the paper and holding it close to his face. "_We will soon be in a position to apprehend your brother, Sebastian di Napoli, and would be grateful if your lordship could clarify whether it would please you more if he were returned to Naples dead or alive. Your humble servants, Lady Aislinn Arrington and Captain Charles Duffy of the British Royal Navy._"

"Did you or did you not put a bounty on our brothers' heads?" The king ripped the paper out of Prospero's hands, his voice dangerously low.

The Duke of Milan averted his eyes and studied the tapestries adorning the walls of the king's study with commendable intensity. "There may perhaps have been some correspondence with one of my acquaintances in England…" His eyes travelled slowly from the castle, down the path that flowed from its gates, all the way to the brilliantly dyed sea with its leaping fishes picked out in sparkling silver thread. "I merely warned him in case they sought refuge on his shores—Wait. They've got _Sebastian_, but no word of Antonio?" Prospero snatched the letter and read it again.

Alonso crossed his arms over his chest and waited until the duke had finished his examination. "Not what you expected?"

Prospero slammed the letter down on Alonso's desk. "Why would this Lady Arrington and this Captain Duffy send you a letter about sickly little good-for-nothing Sebastian without mentioning Antonio at all, when I specifically mentioned that he was the more dangerous _and_ the more valuable of the two?"

"You disgust me, Prospero. You signed your own brother's death warrant?!"

"I most certainly did not! I merely put out the word that a would-be fratricidal, regicidal criminal had escaped from Naples and the seas would be safer if he were apprehended before he could cause any more problems."

The king of Naples sighed. This was why his hair had gone grey so early in his life. "Well, where did Antonio go then? He wouldn't have split with Sebastian."

"That's the question I just asked you," Prospero shot back.

"You forget yourself, Duke Prospero," Alonso growled, his eyes narrowing. "One of us in this room is a king by blood and birth and the other is a man who barely managed to reclaim his lost dukedom."

Prospero opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it, turned on his heel, and stormed out of the king's study. He would never admit it to Alonso, but he was deeply troubled. If Sebastian and Antonio weren't together wherever they were, the most logical explanation was that one of them was dead. And if Antonio were dead… Prospero found himself on a balcony overlooking the courtyard where Ferdinand was practicing his fencing. For all of the prince's fancy clothes and his exquisitely wrought foil, he was still atrocious. His en garde was not nearly low enough, his knee overshot his foot on his lunges, his shoulders were not nearly sideways enough…

Prospero had never exactly been a fencing expert, but his brother had been. He remembered sitting under one of Milan's old olive trees, his newest copy of Machiavelli lying open in his hands as he peeked over the top of the crimson morocco binding at Antonio's fencing lessons. His brother, usually so reserved, came alive as soon as he picked up his old sabre. Prospero would watch from the shadows as the blade flashed in the sunlight and Antonio glided across the ground, every movement deliberate and precise. He wasn't jealous, per se, but there had always been a part of him that admired Antonio's skill.

There had been so many times when Prospero had made to close his book, to walk over to the empty spectator's bench, to cheer his brother on. But he hadn't. He hadn't, and now Antonio was dead, and they had parted with venom on their lips.

_You've doomed my city, _Antonio had whispered into Prospero's ear, reaching through the bars of his cell to grab his brother's jacket and pull him close.

Your _city?! _Prospero had exclaimed. _Milan belongs to me, little brother. It always has._

_ In name, maybe. But you do not belong to Milan, and Milan knows that. Milan knows that you care more for your books than your people._

_ At least I'm not a murderer. How long would Milan have tolerated your rule once they knew all that you've done?_

_ How much you've forgotten, brother dearest,_ Antonio had hissed, a small smile playing across his lips. _Milan rose with me against you, and only Gonzala stood by your side. What makes you think the people will rejoice to see you return?_

And Prospero had pried his brother's fingers from his collar and stalked out of the dungeon with his brother's derisive laughter still ringing in his ears. He had thought that there was no truth in Antonio's words, only bitter jealousy. But when he had returned to Milan…

There had been no fanfares, no joyous parades, only a solemn procession past increasingly morose faces. A few had welcomed him back with open arms, declaiming aloud for all to hear how much they had missed him, but only the fawning types one would expect such actions from. And then, when he had finally reached the steps of the Palazzo Reale, the Captain of the Guard had stepped forwards.

_Where is Duke Antonio?_ he had demanded, burly arms folded across his chest.

_Imprisoned in Naples for attempted murder. I am Prospero, rightful Duke of Milan. _He had expected the man, who he had a vague memory of seeing before but whose name he could not recall, to bow and step aside at that.

Instead, he had spat at Prospero's feet. _You are no duke of mine,_ he had declared. And then he had brushed past Prospero, strode down the steps, and quit Milan, taking several officers with him. As for those who had chosen to stay, Prospero had the sinking feeling that they would not hesitate to oust him from power again at a moment's notice from Antonio.

Should he announce Antonio's presumed death when he returned to Milan at the end of the week? Would that quell the seething resentment of the populace or just make it flare up again?

"Damn you, Antonio," Prospero whispered. "Damn you, little brother."

It wasn't until he tasted the salt on his lips that Prospero of Milan realized he was crying.

* * *

Sebastian stood at the railing, shivering as he started down at the shattered planks and tattered canvas bobbing on the sea. He remembered hearing the wind howling outside his cabin the night before, but the Acquatis must have kept the worst of the storm away from _La Tempesta_. Whatever vessel had supplied all the flotsam they were now sailing through clearly hadn't been as lucky as they had been.

It was impossible to tell where the ship had come from or where it had been going, but Sebastian kept thinking he caught a glimpse of the Neapolitan flag out of the corner of his eye, the dull gleam of the epaulets on Antonio's jacket, the shape of Alonso's crown bobbing on the waves…

They had come closer to drowning in that storm between Tunis and Naples than Sebastian cared to remember, but Sebastian was beginning to think that it had been no natural storm. Ever since the Acquatis had first suggested that Prospero had wielded some kind of magic on the island, Sebastian couldn't help but dwell on how the sky had darkened so quickly, how the clouds had swelled up out of nothing, how the winds had started to whip the waves into whitecaps when the water had been so still a moment before, how the rain had stung his face with such a vengeance…

Prospero had summoned up that storm to wreck them on the island, that much Sebastian was fairly sure of.

_If we are to sink, I would sink with my king,_ Antonio had said after he was done cursing and being cursed at by the boatswain, wrapping his arm around Sebastian's shoulders and helping him stagger back to the captain's quarters where the officials of the court were huddled in prayer.

Sebastian's agreement was lost as the deck rolled and heaved under his feet and the rain bit at his skin.

Antonio had pulled the cabin door shut behind them, leaving Gonzala out on the deck to beg the elements for shelter, and huddled in the far corner of the room with Sebastian in his arms. Alonso and his son, Ferdinand, were kneeling by the captain's desk, but Sebastian had made no move to go to his brother.

_Goodbye, Antonio,_ Sebastian had whispered in the duke's ear, closing his eyes and burying his head in his shoulder. There was a part of him that still expected Antonio to tell him to cheer up and stop being so dramatic, that everything would be fine even though the sound of splintering wood could be heard clearly through the storm.

But Antonio hadn't said anything to reassure him. He had just wrapped Sebastian in his arms and nestled his head in his hair.

That was when Sebastian had started to panic. They were going to die at sea, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had always assumed he would die in his bed of some illness or another and he had long ago resigned himself to the bitter fact of his own mortality. He had never imagined he would drown.

But if he was going to drown, at least it would be in Antonio's arms…

Sebastian had opened his mouth to say something, but he never discovered what. At that very moment, the cabin was illuminated by a blue-white flash of lightning and the ensuing thunder was drowned out by the splintering crash of Alonso's flagship tearing itself in two. He had clung to Antonio as the two of them were swallowed by the sea, dragged down into its raging depths by the vicious waves. Something hit Antonio on the head, and the younger man's arms sagged around Sebastian as he slipped into unconsciousness and began to sink into the deeps.

Something had snapped in Sebastian then. Just like that damned boatswain, he had not been born to drown, and neither had Antonio. His fingers had closed around Antonio's collar and a sudden wild strength had found its way into his veins as he kicked back to the surface, dragging Antonio with him. His head had broken through the water, back into the world of howling winds and raging waves, and he had narrowly avoided being clobbered by a stray piece of flotsam before he had found a board large enough for him to drag Antonio onto.

He had clung to that board in the middle of the raging storm for what felt like hours until a stray wave had finally shoved him in sight of a rocky shoreline. Luckily they were already being pushed towards the shore, since Sebastian barely had the strength to keep himself and Antonio from slipping beneath the waves.

The sea had spat them out on the beach and all Sebastian wanted to do was lie down where the waves had left him and go to sleep, but he had gritted his teeth and dragged Antonio out of reach of the waves.

_'Tonio,_ Sebastian had gasped as he collapsed on his chest.

His chest that wasn't moving.

_'Tonio!_ he had tried to scream, but it had come out as more of a dull rasp. _'Tonio!_ He had put his hands over Antonio's chest and begun to pump, waiting for some sign of life. But the other man had not stirred.

_No, 'Tonio, no,_ Sebastian had sobbed, tilting Antonio's head back and pressing their mouths together, breathing into his lungs.

Antonio had taken a shuddering breath and begun to cough up lungfuls of seawater, and Sebastian had collapsed in a heap at his side.

_Seb?_ Antonio had coughed, his hand reaching for Sebastian's.

_I'm here, 'Tonio._

The two of them had drifted off to sleep like that, hand in hand on the shores of Prospero's Island, only they hadn't known that it was Prospero' Island then, they hadn't known that was the beginning of everything and the beginning of the end…

Sebastian was about to turn his back on the current wreckage when he caught a glimpse of a figure that was not just a figment of his imagination. There was someone down there, clinging to a barrel as bobbed on the waves, so limp that he might have already been dead had Sebastian not looked down to see his eyes flicker.

"Man overboard!" he yelled, snapping himself out of his stupor and lunging for the closest coil of rope.

Fiorenzo ran to help him, but by the time they had made ready to throw the rope out to the castaway, Imelda had already dived over the side of the ship and was towing both barrel and passenger towards _La Tempesta_.

"I'll still need that rope!" she hollered up to Sebastian and Fiorenzo. "I can't really levitate him up on deck, now can I?"

They hurled the thick rope down to Imelda, who wrapped it around the semi-conscious man and gave them a thumbs-up. Sebastian and Fiorenzo began to haul the shipwrecked man aboard, while Imelda fused her fingers and toes with the chauvetwood planks and climbed up the hull of the ship next to him, steadying his listless body as he rose higher and higher.

"That was an even less graceful entrance than yours," Imelda remarked as Sebastian pulled the man over the railing and began untying the makeshift harness.

"Do you know who he is?" Sebastian asked, studying his curly brown hair and sea-stained clothes. He almost reminded Sebastian of his younger self…

"Ask him yourself," Imelda retorted, waving a bottle of smelling salts under his nose.

The shipwrecked man coughed and opened eyes of a startling similar grey-green shade to Sebastian's. "Th-thank you," he gasped. "Have you seen my sister?"

Sebastian looked to Imelda, but she merely gestured for him to respond. _You're the captain,_ her rolling eyes said. _This is your problem. _

"Who are you, lad?" Now that Sebastian had gotten a closer look at his rescue, he realized that he couldn't be any older than nineteen or twenty and was probably a few years younger than that.

"I'm Sebastian. What's your name, sir?"

"Antonio," Sebastian di Napoli breathed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "How do I get myself into these things?"

"Please, Captain Antonio, have you seen my sister, Viola?"


	14. Trouble Found Me

"Captain Antonio!"

Sebastian didn't have the heart to tell the boy that that wasn't his name. Besides, it would only make it more confusing if there were two Sebastians aboard _La Tempesta_…

"What island is that, Captain Antonio?" shipwrecked Sebastian asked, leaning over the railing and pointing towards the rocky shoreline to the east.

"One that I pray is less inhabited than the last time I was there," Sebastian replied as he peered through Annette's brass spyglass, surveying the rocks for anything unusual. As far as he knew, the island should be deserted except for Sycorax's monstrous son, Caliban, but Sebastian had the prickling feeling at the nape of his neck that there was something else waiting for them out there.

There was something unnatural about the island. Sebastian had not realized it immediately after the shipwreck—he had been a little bit more focused on staying alive—but now he felt what he should have picked up on the moment he had set foot on the beach. The air had a strange quality to it, a tingling feeling that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and his eyes dart frantically from side to side, searching for something horrible among the stones. There was a smell too, the sharp, bitter scent of lightning… The island reeked of magic.

"Drop anchor," Sebastian ordered as they glided into the bay. Either the curse would be lifted today or the crew would be killed by whatever lurked in the shadows of Prospero's Island, but never again would they have to worry about sacrificing a soul to Setebos and Davy Jones when they weighed anchor. "Do you think you can handle whatever's waiting for us out there?" he asked the Acquatis, retying Antonio's crimson sash around his waist.

The three sisters were gathered around the wheel, looking grimmer than he had ever seen them before. When he remembered that the last time they had been to the island, they had ended up cursed into the service of Cornelius Araey, he supposed that they had a good reason for their cautious glances at the shoreline.

"Three Gorgon sisters and the pirate king," Annette said boldly, one hand wrapped firmly around the hilt of her sword and Medraut perched defiantly on her shoulder. "Whatever's out there doesn't stand a chance."

"Then we go ashore now. The faster we get this done and over with, the better." Sebastian checked one last time to make sure that his pistols were loaded and his hat was straight. Satisfied, he started bellowing orders as he walked down the stairs from the quarter deck to the main deck. "Sara, Imelda, Annette, with me. We'll take the first rowboat and scout out the island. If we don't return by sundown, send Fiorenzo and Alessandro after us. If you can't find us by morning, you weigh anchor and get the hell out of here."

"Take me too!" pleaded shipwrecked Sebastian, jumping in front of the captain.

Sebastian shoved him out of the way as he made his way to the rowboats. "Absolutely not. You have no idea what's on that island—"

"What if my sister's there? You said that you washed up there once after you were shipwrecked, maybe the same thing happened to her. Please, Captain." Young Sebastian looked at him with pleading eyes. "Please, Antonio."

Sebastian sighed. "Get in the boat. But remember, it's your own damn fault if you die."

The Acquatis, Sara's mastiff, and the two Sebastians piled into the rowboat and struck off for the shore. They ran the boat aground on the same beach where the tempest had washed Sebastian and Antonio up several months ago, checked their weapons one last time, and ventured off into the trees.

Sebastian had only spent a few hours on the island before, but everything looked oddly familiar as they trekked deeper into the interior. There was the tawny patch of grass where Antonio and Gonzala had argued, there was the pile of rocks where Alonso had tripped as he paced about searching for his son, there were the stones where the king and the rest of his retinue had fallen into a strangely sudden slumber… It must have been more of Prospero's magic, Sebastian realized that now, but why hadn't he and Antonio dozed off with the rest of them? What could Prospero have possibly hoped to achieve by leaving the two of them awake?

_Strange,_ Sebastian had remarked at the time, nudging Gonzala's arm and watching her keep snoring. _I don't feel tired at all. What about you, my lord Antonio?_

_ Not a bit, my lord Sebastian,_ Antonio had grinned, taking Sebastian's hand and leading him a little ways away from the king's entourage. _My lord Sebastian… _A strange grin flickered across his face as he brushed the dirt off of Sebastian's shoulders and straightened his collar. _King Sebastian._

Sebastian had bit back his laughter and swatted Antonio's hands away. _You must be dreaming, 'Tonio._

_ On the contrary, I am very much awake. _Antonio pressed their foreheads together, reaching up to caress Sebastian's cheek. _And while I may be inclined to lie down, I am not so inclined to sleep, _he quipped.

_You're mad,_ Sebastian had shot back. _Alonso's right there!_ But he had grinned back and leaned into Antonio's embrace and slipped a hand under his sea-stained shirt.

_Exactly. _Antonio had grabbed Sebastian's wrists and twined their fingers together, gently pushing him an arm's length away. _You were born to be a great man, Sebastian…_

Sebastian had chuckled at that. _That's my line, 'Tonio. You're the duke and I'm the sidekick._

_ But you could be so much more than that. You could be a king._ There was a frightening intensity to Antonio's gaze. _You_ deserve_ to be a king. If only… Oh, Seb, if only I could give you Naples… But I could… I could, if… If…_

_ Spit it out, 'Tonio._

With trembling hands, Antonio let go of Sebastian and began to pace back and forth across the clearing. _Despite what Gonzala said before, it's almost certain that Prince Ferdinand is drowned, right?_

_ Right, _Sebastian had agreed, a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. _But what—_

_So who's the heir of Naples then?_ Antonio had quickly cut him off.

_Claribel, I guess…_

Antonio had quit his pacing at that and turned to face Sebastian. _Claribel, ha! It's because of Claibel that we're shipwrecked here, it's Claribel who's left the path open for your destiny, Sebastian—_

_ What are you talking about, 'Tonio?_ Sebastian had sighed.

_I am talking about the leagues between Tunis and Naples, I am talking about how Claribel cannot hope to ever rule both. Let Claribel stay in Tunis then, and let Sebastian rise in Naples. If Alonso were incapacitated—as he might very well be by the loss of his son—the crown would fall to you, my lord. You could rule Naples just as well as Alonso, and I—I would stand by your side. Milan and Naples… Don't you see?_

_ I do, but—_

_ But what? Sebastian…_ Antonio had draped his arm over Sebastian's shoulder and turned him slowly to face the sleeping king. _Think of it, Seb._

Against his better instincts, Sebastian had shrugged Antonio's arm off. _Don't you remember that night in Naples, before you overthrew Prospero? Don't you remember what you said to me about regret?_

_ I would regret more now if I had done nothing._ With that beguiling smile of his spread across his face, Antonio had once more pulled Sebastian into his arms. _I did what had to be done, for the good of Milan. _

_ But this wouldn't be for the good of Naples. Alonso is a fine king. It might take him a few months to recover from losing Ferdinand, but—_

_ Alonso is worth no more than the dirt he lies upon. I know what he said to you in Tunis, Sebastian. I know—_

_ You know nothing, Antonio! Whatever passed between me and Alonso, he is still my brother._ Sebastian had pushed Antonio away and whirled to face the younger man, his face twisted in pain. He wanted to prove to Alonso that he was more than just a burden, but he did not trust himself to rule. He wanted to make Antonio happy, but he did not want to put a knife between his brother's ribs.

Antonio caught Sebastian's hand in his own, although he made no attempt to pull the other man closer. _Seb… _he murmured, twining their fingers together. _I just want us to be able to be together. _

There was a pleading, helpless, lost look in Antonio's eyes that Sebastian couldn't bring himself to turn away from. _We don't have to kill Alonso to be together. All we have to do is run away._

_ I don't want to run, though. I want to have you _and_ Milan, is that too much to ask? Think on it, just for a moment—if we take out Alonso and Gonzala here, the crown of Naples passes to you as soon as we reach the mainland again. Milan will no longer have to beggar itself paying taxes to the Neapolitan throne, Naples will no longer have to bribe Milan for troops. We could unite Italy, Sebastian. We could rule side by side, all Alonso has to do is die. _He had squeezed Sebastian's hand, searching the other man's face for some small sign of agreement. _Don't you want to be free, Seb?_

There was his brother, the brother who had always shamed and ridiculed him, passed out on the rocks. And there was Antonio, his free hand fiddling with the hilt of his sword, offering him everything he had ever wanted…

Alonso wouldn't care if Sebastian were dead, he had told him so to his face more times than Sebastian cared to remember. Why should Sebastian care if Alonso died?

A little voice in the back of his head tried to whisper that there was a difference between him dying from his old perpetual illness and Alonso being murdered in cold blood, but the feeling of Antonio's hand in his own shoved it out of his thoughts. Just one quick movement, one little cut, and he could have it all—Naples, his freedom, Antonio…

_I shall follow your lead, my lord,_ Sebastian had whispered, shoving down the waves of impending guilt as he loosened his sword in its sheath. _One swift stroke._

_ Together, _Antonio had replied, still holding Sebastian's hand. _On my count, I'll take Alonso and you take Gonzala. _

A sigh of relief escaped from Sebastian's lips as the two men drew their swords together and began picking their way across the tawny grass to the sleepers. Gonzala he could kill without remorse, all he had to do was remember the sight of a bleeding Antonio staggering into his room after one of their duels.

Antonio raised his sword over Alonso's chest, ready to plunge it downwards through the tattered jacket and into the heart beneath, and Sebastian held his own blade above Gonzala's snoring throat…

_Wait,_ he had whispered, lowering his blade and grabbing Antonio's sword arm. _One thing first. _He had dragged Antonio a few steps away from the sleepers, a strange sense of destiny settling in his stomach. Once they committed this act, there would be no going back. _Whatever happens next, I hope you know how much I love you. _He bent down to brush his lips gently against Antonio's, but Antonio reached up to twine his fingers in his hair and crushed their mouths together hungrily.

_Of course I know,_ Antonio had murmured back, straightening Sebastian's jacket collar and smoothing out the hair he had disheveled. _Now let us strike quickly._

But when they had turned back, swords held firmly, determination etched on their faces, Gonzala had cried out and woken the king and the rest of the sleepers, and Sebastian had watched that bright future he had glimpsed for a few scant minutes slip away into nothing.

_We heard some strange bellowing, like bulls or—or lions,_ Sebastian had lied swiftly.

_Oh yes, _Antonio had agreed. _It was a monstrous noise—it must have been a—a whole herd of lions!_

_ I heard a humming, _Gonzala had confessed when Alonso asked her if she had noticed what had awoken her, but there was suspicion in her eyes when she looked at Antonio and Sebastian standing back to back with their swords drawn…

"Captain Antonio?"

Sebastian jumped and spent several long seconds looking for Antonio before he realized that the shipwrecked teenager was calling to him. "Yes?" he muttered, hoping the boy hadn't noticed his momentary confusion.

"What is _that_?"

* * *

"Tell me what you know of this Sebastian di Napoli," Commodore Durant ordered, pacing back and forth in his cabin as the recently re-initiated Commander Araey sipped on his tea.

"He's King Alonso's younger brother, who was apparently incarcerated after a failed assassination attempt. He escaped the Neapolitan dungeons with one Antonio di Milano—the man your Perseid killed—and signed onto _La Tempesta_'s crew. If I'd known then that he was going to rile my crew up to mutiny and steal my ship, I would have tossed him right back into the Gulf of Naples."

"Do you have any idea where they're going?"

Araey kicked his feet up on Durant's desk and ignored the commodore's venomous glare. "As a matter of fact, I do. Pass me that map." He caught the map that Durant tossed him and spread it out on the table. "Right about there," he said, slamming his dagger through the parchment into the wood beneath.

"I'm going to assume there's an island there, because you just stabbed the middle of the Mediterranean."

"Yes, there is an island there. It used to belong to an Algerian witch named Sycorax until she was defeated by Prospero, the exiled Duke of Milan. It's the place where _La Tempesta_ was cursed, and I'd bet just about anything that the Acquatis are taking her back there to try to lift it."

"We can't catch them before they get there—"

"I know," Araey said with a grin, cutting off the commodore. "So we set a trap for them instead and wait for them here."

"I'm going to assume there's an island there too, because that is the middle of the North Sea. Also, would you stop destroying my map? Those things are expensive." Durant was about ninety-five percent sure that he was going to live to regret his decision to welcome Cornelius Araey back into the Royal Navy, but at least Araey would get something done before he stabbed him in the back, unlike the blundering ex-Commander Duffy.

"That island is the last place they can stop to resupply before sailing north off the edge of the map—which I guarantee you they'll be doing to get Antonio from the Locker."

Durant chuckled harshly. "You really think they'll make it down to the Locker and back?"

"Oh, we'll make sure they make it down to the Locker, with the _Chorister_ and the _Anjou_ following close behind. I don't think they'll make it back so easily though. For all that the Acquatis are brilliant, they seem to have forgotten one rather large detail—Antonio di Milano didn't go down to Davy Jones alone."

* * *

Imelda shoved the two Sebastians behind the nearest boulder as three shadowy figures stepped out of the trees.

"Stay down," she hissed, standing shoulder to shoulder with her sisters in front of the rocks as the three figures advanced on them, ghosting over fallen leaves on hazy feet that made no sound and left no footprints.

_Who—_

_ —are—_

_ —you?_ chorused the spirits—the _spirit_, singular, Imelda realized.

"We are the daughters of Stheno," Annette replied cautiously, holding her empty hands up in front of her. "We mean you and your island no harm. We seek only to break a curse on our friends that Sycorax cast many years ago."

All three of the spirit's bodies flinched backwards. _Sycorax… Sycorax… Sycorax… _they whispered in mingled fear and disgust.

_ Sycorax is dead—_

_ —Prospero killed her—_

_ —but he is gone too now._

"Are you one of the spirits who served them?" Imelda asked, motioning for the Eduardo to stand down and stop humming threateningly in the spirit's direction. "Can you help us?"

_What—_

_ —is your—_

_ —curse?_

"Sycorax made a deal with a man named Cornelius Araey that we would be bound to serve him until we found the pirate king if in return she could kill one man of his ship's crew every time it weighed anchor and send their souls in tribute to Setebos and Davy Jones," Sara explained as she put a hand on Daene's head, asking the mastiff to stop growling suspiciously at the shadowy figures.

The spirit's three voices laughed in unison as they drifted closer to the sisters, clearly unperturbed by both the birds and the dog, slowly solidifying into the shape of three women robed in black.

_I was there that day—_

_ —I saw it all—_

_ —Why should I help you?_

Imelda had no doubt that she and her sisters could overpower the spirit and force it to help them as Prospero and Sycorax had done, but that would make them little better than Captain Araey. And so instead she hinged everything on the faint note of sorrow she thought she had heard when the spirit said that Prospero was gone.

"Does the word 'chauvetwood' mean anything to you?" By the shock on the spirit's faces, she knew that she had guessed right. The spirit was a creature of magic, bound to the island where it had been created, and the only way it could leave was on a ship made of some material that preserved magic. "Our ship, _La Tempesta_, is built from it. If you help us break the curse, we'll take you to visit Prospero in Milan."

The spirit debated with itself for a moment, then all three aspects voiced their agreement together.

_Did Sycorax give you—_

_ —any hints about—_

_ —how to break it?_

"The curse will be broken when fire dances in the sky, when the seas freeze and the mountains fall, when Ariel takes the wheel and sails us into tomorrow," Annette quoted. "And you're Ariel, aren't you?"

The spirit smiled, baring three sets of pointed teeth.

_Some—_

_ —have called—_

_ —me that._

That was when one of the Sebastians shifted, triggering a small cascade of pebbles. Before Imelda could do anything, Ariel had materialized behind the sisters and was dragging the two men out of their hiding place.

_I remember this one—_

_ —he is the lover of Prospero's brother—_

_ —the one who tried to kill him._

"And I know you," Sebastian shot back, his hands moving towards the pistols at his waist. "You were the harpies at that haunted feast. Given the chance, you would have killed me there."

Much to Imelda's relief, shipwrecked Sebastian butted in before the conversation could deteriorate any further. "Have you seen my sister? She's about my height, same color hair, same color eyes… She was lost at sea two days ago and I thought she might have washed up here..."

_Your sister is in Illyria—_

_ —the East Wind told us—_

_ —she is looking for you._

"Viola's alive? She's safe?!" The younger Sebastian's face broke into a grin. "I knew it! Captain Antonio, can you take me to Illyria, please?"

"Why not? I've evidently gone from pirate king to ferry master in the past five minutes." Sebastian rolled his eyes and started walking back the way they had come. "Let's get this done and over with."

_Not—_

_ —so—_

_ —fast._

Imelda and her sisters sighed as Ariel encircled their captain, a menacing look on the spirit's faces. Of course they couldn't get through this without some kind of minor catastrophe.

_You would have killed your brother for his crown—_

_ —you helped your lover overthrow Prospero—_

_ —how can I know I can trust you?_

Annette made to speak, but Sara held up her hand and motioned for silence. This was something Sebastian had to figure out on his own.

"Because the man I love is dead at the hands of a British monstrosity, and I will do anything to get him back," Sebastian growled. "Just as you would do anything to get back to Prospero. And if you help me now, I swear that I will never raise a hand against Milan or Naples as long as I live. I will stay at sea where I belong."

Ariel stepped away from him, and Imelda breathed a sigh of relief. She had not had nearly enough sleep in the past week to be in any shape to settle a dispute between the pirate king and some kind of elemental spirit.

But then the spirit turned back, sloughing off its human skins and sprouting three pairs of dark harpy's wings as it encircled Sebastian again.

_Know that if you betray us—_

_ —we will slay you without question—_

_ —and feast on your soul._


	15. But the Show, It Can't Go On

He had been so close, so infuriatingly close. A new command, Sebastian di Napoli's bounty… He would have had money and power, the two things he had scarcely allowed himself to dream of for years. And now it was ruined, all his hopes dashed, and all because Cornelius Araey wasn't dead.

"'S nnnot fairr," Duffy slurred, his seventh glass of brandy tumbling out of his fingers as he slumped over the table in Aislinn Arrington's cabin aboard the _Anjou_.

The Siren captain rolled her eyes and caught the glass before it could shatter on the floor. "Enough, Charles. You're drunk."

"'M gonna… 'm gonna kill 'im."

"We will, when you are sober." She set the glass down safely out of reach and snatched the bottle of brandy away when she saw Duffy making a lunge for it. "I said that's enough."

Duffy muttered something unintelligible and proceeded to pass out in Arrington's cabin. Arrington, who had been somewhat resigned to this eventuality ever since the ex-commander had found her stash of brandy earlier in the evening, picked him up with a sigh and deposited him unceremoniously on her bed. It wasn't like she was going to be sleeping tonight anyways, and the poor man had nowhere else to go.

The captain of the _Anjou _poured herself a more moderate glass of brandy and sat down in the chair she had just dragged Duffy out of, unrolling a large map of Europe that she had stolen from Commodore Durant and setting up a quill and a bottle of ink to jot down notes to herself with.

So Durant had charted a course that would take his fleet to some godforsaken island in the middle of the North Sea, from which he thought they would be able to ambush _La Tempesta_. That was all well and good, but why the hell would the Acquatis be sailing so far north? There was nothing there except… except…

Except the Locker.

"Damn," Aislinn Arrington hissed, staring at the map, but she could see no alternative. "Damn."

Because Aislinn Arrington had the sinking feeling that something would go awry with this ambush, as something had gone awry ever since _La Tempesta _had reappeared in the Caribbean with her strange new deckhand-turned-captain. And if Durant and Araey failed to take the ship in an ambush, Arrington had no doubts that they would be chasing her off the edge of the map and down to the Locker itself.

"Damn."

* * *

"We're making one short detour," Sebastian announced once the crew had gotten over the initial shock of meeting Ariel. He was rather impressed with how well they adjusted to having the spirit onboard, but then again, Ariel was scarcely a stranger sight than the young Gorgon sisters and their familiars. "Take us to Illyria, Im, then you can pass the wheel over to our, uh, new friend."

Imelda snapped off a smart salute and spun the ship to the north. "We'll be there in two days' time."

"Thanks," shipwrecked Sebastian told the captain quietly as the crew dispersed back to their posts. "Not that I'd mind sailing with you for a while longer, but…"

"Your sister might still be alive."

The other Sebastian nodded. "I was starting to think that she had drowned, that I'd never see her again, but now that I have a hope that she could be out there somewhere… I still don't know if I trust Ariel though. Why should some strange spirit care about Viola?" He glanced suspiciously over his shoulder at the three black-clad figures clustered around Imelda, reaching out with translucent fingers that solidified when they came into contact with the wheel.

"Sebastian." The name still tasted strange on Sebastian's tongue as he put his hands on the boy's shoulders, and for a moment it almost seemed to him that he was talking to a younger version of himself. "You'll find her."

"You've lost someone too, haven't you?" the shipwrecked boy asked innocently, doubtlessly tipped off by the catch that Sebastian couldn't keep out of his voice. "Someone who meant a lot to you."

The elder Sebastian let go of the younger and turned to face the sea. The sea that he loved, the sea that had given him his life, but at what cost? "Yes, I lost someone, and it was my fault." His knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on the railing, watching the waves roll by steadily beneath them.

_You got…Barlow. _He could not forget that terrifying moment of hesitation in Imelda's voice. Which one of them had he shot? He remembered pulling the trigger, he remembered the scream, but he couldn't remember _who_ had screamed. Logic told him that it must have been Barlow, because surely he would have recognized Antonio's scream, but how could he recognize Antonio's scream when he had never heard the other man cry out except in his sleep? And what would he do if they did make it down to the Locker and it turned out that he had shot Antonio after all? What would he say? What _could_ he say?

Shipwrecked Sebastian leaned on the railing next to him, his fingers tracing patterns in the wood. "I'm sorry."

"Once the curse on _La Tempesta_ is broken for good, I'm taking her down to Poseidon's Graveyard to bring him back." It was the first time he had actually stated his plan out loud, and the sheer ridiculousness of it suddenly slapped him in the face. Yes, once the spirit that wanted him dead had freed his crew from the curse put on them by a mad Algerian witch, he—the man who until quite recently had scarcely ever set foot outside of Naples—was going to sail off the edge of the known world to a place he had no idea how to return from in some insane attempt to save a man he might or might not have shot.

But the other Sebastian didn't look at him like he was crazy. On the contrary, he stared up at him with unmasked admiration in his eyes. "Voluntarily sail down to the Locker? I wish I was as brave as you are."

"I'm not brave, I'm stupid," Sebastian retorted with a strangled laugh. "Stupid and reckless and too stubborn for my own good." It wasn't until he had already said it that he realized Prospero had once used the very same words to describe Antonio.

"You're brave _and_ stupid," the younger Sebastian conceded with a grin that the elder almost recognized as his own. "But if anyone can make it down to the Locker and back, I bet it's you."

Sebastian arched his eyebrows, a tired smile playing at the corners of his mouth. _Me?_ he wanted to ask. _Alonso's sickly little brother? _But he wasn't sick, not anymore, and Alonso had no power over him now, and so he simply quipped, "What makes you say that?"

The younger man shrugged. "Oh, I don't know, maybe because I just watched you charm an ancient spirit out of killing you on sight and into helping you break your crew's curse. Maybe because the Acquatis believe you can make it there and back again, and even I can tell that they're not quite human. If a trio of, well, whatever they are and the entire crew of _La Tempesta_ are ready to follow you down to the Locker without a question, you must have done something to deserve that trust. I don't know what it is about you, Captain, but there's something about you that makes people want to follow you. There's something… regal about you—like you were born to be a king."

Sebastian turned away from the boy so he couldn't see the color draining from his face. _You were born to be a great man, Sebastian, _Antonio's voice whispered in the depths of his mind. _You could be a king. _No, no he couldn't, he wasn't supposed to be a king or a captain or anyone with any power whatsoever, he was just Sebastian—

"And you're scared," the other Sebastian continued, tentatively taking his trembling hand. "You're scared, and I can only guess at why because I've known you for like three days although sometimes I feel like I've known you forever, but I'm going to take a stab here and say you're terrified that you don't deserve the love and loyalty everyone has given you and you're not going to make it to the Locker and back." After a moment of hesitation, the younger Sebastian flung his arms around the elder. "I'm not an elemental spirit or whatever the Acquatis are, I'm just Sebastian, but I believe in you."

The elder Sebastian returned the younger's embrace and fondly ruffled his hair. "Thank you. Thank you, Sebastian."

* * *

Alonso looked at the dark blue wax imprinted with the Milanese seal with growing distaste and shattered it with a quick flick of his thumb. _Your Majesty_, the letter read in Prospero's elegant hand. _I have received word from Arrington and Duffy that your brother is sailing north off the edge of the map, presumably heading for someplace the Englishmen refer to as "Davy Jones' Locker." The Locker, according to my books, is some kind of purgatory where souls lost at sea are sent—I know you used to be loath to believe in magic, Alonso, but perhaps your views have changed after visiting my island. In any case, believe me that I have instructed the Englishmen to capture your brother alive and return him to Naples as soon as possible. _

The king of Naples grimaced and refrained from the urge to throw the piece of paper into his fireplace. Of course he believed in things he had once thought impossible after the banquet with the harpies and the half-fish, half-man monster he had seen on Prospero's Island. A land beyond the northern edge of the map where the drowned were sent to wait? It sounded more plausible than some of the things he had seen.

But as far as Alonso knew, there was only one person in the world that his little brother would even consider sailing to the ends of the earth for.

"So Antonio really is dead then," he remarked softly to himself, something like pity swelling in his chest. He had never really cared much for Prospero's younger brother himself, but Antonio had been useful once upon a time, and Sebastian had always had feelings for him… Poor Sebastian. Poor, sickly Sebastian, out there alone on the high seas…

King Alonso had made up his mind. No matter what course of action Prospero urged, he would not throw Sebastian back in jail if he was returned to Naples. Losing Antonio was punishment enough for whatever crime he might have committed, given the chance, and little Sebastian wasn't much of a threat on his own. If the two British sailors managed to return him, Alonso would welcome him back—perhaps not exactly with open arms, and perhaps with a guard posted outside his rooms, but he would welcome him nonetheless.

There was a part of him though that still whispered that it would be easier to let Sebastian slip unmourned and unlamented into the sea. What was Sebastian to him? Just his sickly little brother who had never done anything for the good of Naples and had plotted to overthrow him and possibly sabotage Ferdinand and Miranda's wedding… Wouldn't it be better to forget about him, to tell the English sailors that there was no reward for his capture, to let him fade away?

"Sebastian," Alonso murmured, picking up a quill and twirling it back and forth in his fingers as he debated sending a letter to his brother via Prospero and the English sailors. "Damn you, Sebastian."

* * *

The crew had seen the lights on the island and the ships in the harbor, and the Acquatis had vouched that the tavern there served decent food, and the crew had just made their second Atlantic crossing in six months and was about round that off with a voyage to the Locker, so Sebastian figured the least he could do was let them stop a few hours for a decent meal. Still wary of the curse, he gave orders for the anchor to stay raised and sent the crew ashore in shifts of six.

And that was how Sebastian di Napoli found himself in yet another island tavern, drinking perhaps one tankard of rum too many and finally confessing the truth to his shipwrecked friend.

"I should have told you this before," he sighed, his cheeks flushing, "but my name isn't Antonio. I just—you called me that—hearing that name again—I couldn't bring myself to correct you then."

Shipwrecked Sebastian put his tankard down, a strange expression of mild betrayal and stronger curiosity on his face. "Then what _is_ your name?"

"Sebastian," he laughed. "My name's Sebastian too."

Sudden realization dawned in the other man's eyes. "Then Antonio… He must be the one you're sailing off the edge of the map for."

Sebastian nodded, finishing his drink and ignoring Annette's glare from across the room as he motioned for another. "I'll drop you off in Illyria, then I'm off for the uncharted north."

"But Illyria will take you days out of your way…" The elder Sebastian followed the younger's gaze across the room to the tall, handsome man lounging up against the bar. "I was talking to him earlier. He said he's headed towards Illyria, I bet he'd take me if I asked."

The man at the bar must have felt their eyes on him, for he turned with a wink and a smile at the bartender and sauntered over to the Sebastians' table, drink in hand, and sat down next to the shipwrecked boy.

Sebastian felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. Here was a stranger, a complete stranger, staring at him with those dark, sparkling eyes that he knew all too well, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that Sebastian could have sworn he had seen before in Naples, his dark hair falling rakishly across his eyes in such a familiar way that Sebastian had to hold back the urge to run his hands through it.

"Captain Antonio," the man said with the same grin that haunted both Sebastian's dreams and nightmares, holding out his hand. "Of _La Notte Dodicesimo_."

It took Sebastian a few moments to realize that the newcomer was introducing himself, not repeating the false name Sebastian had given his new friend. "C-captain Sebastian," he stuttered. "Of _La Tempesta_."

"Have we met before?" Captain Antonio asked, tilting his head to the side.

_In another lifetime,_ Sebastian wanted to answer, but all he said was, "I don't think so."

"Could you take me with you to Illyria?" shipwrecked Sebastian asked eagerly, oblivious to the growing tension between the two captains. "I was going to go with Captain Sebastian, but it's rather out of his way, and if you're heading in that direction anyways…"

Captain Antonio smiled, and Sebastian felt something deep inside him break, because that was how _his_ Antonio used to look at him. "Sure thing, Sebby. My crew and I are staying here for the night. You're welcome to sleep in my room."

"I should be going," Sebastian said abruptly, throwing down a few coins for his drinks and hurriedly rising to his feet. "Good luck, Sebastian. Pleasure to meet you, Captain Antonio." He gave the shipwrecked boy a quick hug, shook the other captain's hand, and practically ran out of the tavern.

"So, Sebby," he heard the other man saying as he fled, and oh god, he had 'Tonio's voice too. Sebastian probably would have run all the way back to _La Tempesta_ if he hadn't run straight into Annette Acquati.

"It's a cruel world," she remarked, but there was no malice in her voice, only lingering sorrow.

Despite the tropical heat, Sebastian was shivering uncontrollably. "He was Antonio, but he wasn't Antonio… He thought he knew me."

The youngest of the Acquati sisters chuckled softly to herself and threw her arm around Sebastian's shoulders, leading him slowly back to the ship. "Fate has an oddly twisted sense of humor."

"Oh my god, Little Sebastian and _La Notte Dodicesimo_'s captain are totally making out right now!" Imelda gasped, running up to her sister. "You owe me a slice of cake. Hey, Cap'n. Oh, this is rather awkward, isn't it?"

Imelda clapped a hand over her mouth, but Sebastian had already shaken off Annette's arm and was stalking back to the rowboat where Fiorenzo and Alessandro were waiting to ferry him out to _La Tempesta_. "Come on, you two," he growled. "The boy found another ship to take him to Illyria."

He knew the sisters were whispering about him, but he didn't really care at the moment. "Are you coming or not?" he threw over his shoulder as he climbed into the rowboat.

"Are you okay?" Imelda asked, picking up an oar and steering the boat back out to sea.

Sebastian sighed and rolled his eyes. "Never been better. I just happened to run into Antonio's lookalike, who happens to have the same name and is clearly head over heels in love with another guy who happens to be named Sebastian."

The sisters shared a knowing glance and began rowing faster, taking Sebastian away from the tavern before he could change his mind and rush back in to demand an explanation of who Captain Antonio was and where he had come from. "Well, the good news is that while you were failing to drink away your feelings, Ariel and Sara think they've figured out how to break the curse on _La Tempesta_. Also good news, I am not on drunk duty tomorrow, so Imelda will be the one to deal with you and your hangover in the morning."

"I am not that drunk—" Sebastian started to protest before he processed the first thing Annette had said. "Wait, you know how to break the curse?"

"Well, we have a theory," Imelda clarified. "And Annette, you lost the bet about how long it would take Sebastian here to tell mini-him his real name, so you _are_ on drunk duty tomorrow."

"I hate you all."

Sebastian made a mental note t0 always check which sister had unofficially been put in charge of looking after inebriated crew members before going to any more taverns, since Annette looked about ready to murder the next person who got on her nerves. "So, um, the curse thing?" he said quickly.

By that time, the rowboat had pulled up alongside _La Tempesta_, and Sebastian grabbed the ladder that was thrown over the side and began to climb. Annette and Imelda used their vaguely terrifying lizard-like ability to fuse their fingertips with the wood and scramble up the hull of the ship on either side of him, explaining as they went.

"So we've always known we have to go north to break it, obviously," Imelda said, and Sebastian nodded, although it had been anything but obvious to him.

Annette rolled her eyes and gave him a teasing punch on the shoulder. "Don't just nod your head, Sebastian. _When fire dances in the sky_ has to be a reference to the aurora and _when the seas freeze and the mountains fall_ has to mean the ice fields of the far north. So Ariel steers us north and voila the curse is broken, but of course that's far too simple."

"And it doesn't explain how Emiliano escaped," Imelda added. "Ariel helped us find the traces of Sycorax's spell in the timbers, which Sara's been studying while we were ashore. You're going to like this part," the eldest sister grinned.

"What else is in the north, past the aurora and the ice fields?" Annette asked, vaulting over the railing and pulling Sebastian onto the deck as Imelda helped Fiorenzo and Alessandro hoist the rowboat up.

There was only one place north of the Mediterranean that meant anything to Sebastian. "Poseidon's Graveyard," he replied immediately. "We have to sail there to lift the curse?"

Sara, flanked by three shades in black greatcoats and black tricorn hats that were looking more and more eerily similar to the Acquatis with each passing hour they spent on the ship, strode over to her sisters and smiled at Sebastian. "The curse is lifted by sailing through Death, which washes everything clean, and back into Life. Which means, in theory, that if we killed and resurrected the entire crew—say, by drowning and hexing them—we could cheat the curse. But that would only work for the people on the ship _now_, because the spell is sunk into the very wood of _La Tempesta_ herself—"

"Chauvetwood," Annette growled, interrupting her sister. "Magic sticks to it very well. Too well, sometimes."

"I was getting to that." Sara glared at the other woman, who went back to helping Imelda raise the rowboat. "Anyways, if we want to clear the curse from _La Tempesta_, we have to pass the ship through the Locker and back—"

"Where we can conveniently pick up Antonio—"

"Yes, Imelda, I was getting to that too. But first, I was going to say that this also explains what happened to Emiliano. If Durant drowned him and brought him back, there would have been no problem with him spending more than two nights away from _La Tempesta_ because the curse had already been washed off of him."

Sebastian stared at the trio in disbelief. "You're telling me that Emiliano—the man who I saw die from a gunshot wound and bleed out into the sea—was a Perseid? That's not how you kill a Perseid."

"Did I say that Emiliano died then?" Sara shot back. "No. Imelda put a bullet in him, a development that he was clearly expecting and must have had a bag of blood on himself for. Now Perseids by nature of being resurrections don't have pulses or need to breathe, which explains why Annette thought he was dead when she dragged him out of the sea and buried him."

"But the mark!" Sebastian protested. "The mark on a Perseid's cheek!"

Annette shrugged. "Must have been covered by the bruising on his face. The more pressing issue here is that I think we accidentally buried our treacherous second mate alive—well, alive-ish—and he's probably pretty pissed about that."

"Have you told the crew yet?"

"We just did."

And indeed, when Sebastian finally looked around him, he saw that the entire crew had assembled on deck with mingled expressions of hope and terror when they realized how close they were to being freed from the curse they had stumbled into, but that they would have to risk their lives to do so. After all, the route back from the Locker was still uncertain.

"What are we waiting for then?" Sebastian dashed up the stairs to the quarterdeck, from which he could address his crew. "_North by north and north again, two stars to the right and over the far edge of the world. _That'll get us down to the Locker to shatter our curse and rescue Antonio, and I'll get us back to this world again, I promise. Now hoist the sails! Annette, chart us a course to the edge of the map! Imelda, Ariel, get up here and take the wheel! Sara, whistle us up a wind! Gin, run up the flag!"

Amid the bustle of activity that greeted Sebastian's announcements, Gin approached him uncertainly, a bundle of black fabric in her arms. "Do you want me to put up Araey's flag, or do you have one of your own?"

"I'm working on one for you, but it's not quite done yet," Fiorenzo yelled in passing as he dashed towards the rigging.

Sebastian glanced down at the fabric Gin was clutching with undisguised distaste. "Toss that overboard. Use this for now," he said, untying Antonio's sash from around his waist and pressing it into her hands.

"Aye aye, Cap'n," Gin said with a grin and a quick salute as she gleefully threw Araey's flag over the side of the ship without a second glance.

It was still there in the morning when _La Tempesta_ was long gone, speeding west across the Mediterranean with her black sails straining almost to the breaking point thanks to the winds stirred up by Ariel and the Acquatis. The captain of _La Notte Dodicesimo _caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye as he set a course for Illyria, but he thought nothing of it as he put an arm around his new passenger's shoulder and spun his ship towards the rising sun.


	16. Keep Me In Your Clouded Mind

Annette sighed as she flopped down on a coil of rope, her face and hands smeared with a filthy mix of grease and dust. "Well, all of the cannons are in good working order," she announced to whoever happened to be listening before pulling her hat down over her eyes and promptly falling asleep.

The tricorn hat was lifted from her face moments later and thrown unceremoniously across the deck.

"Come on, Annette. We have work to do."

She briefly debated throwing her sister overboard, remembered that Sara had offered to cook dinner that night, and promptly thought better of it. "I haven't slept in weeks," she grumbled as she lurched across the deck to grab her hat before the wind took it.

"None of us have." There was no pity in Sara's voice as she tossed her an old leaden bullet mold and a lump of gold that had almost certainly been stolen from someone in the tavern the previous week. "Now come on, something tells me we're going to need these soon and I need you to make sure I don't accidentally set fire to the ship while I'm trying to melt that gold."

Grumbling resignedly under her breath, Annette followed her sister to the galley, where Sara had set up an impromptu forge and whipped up a steady breeze to fan the flames around a small crucible of gold. "Maybe we should have done this on land?" she quipped when Sara picked up the crucible with her tongs just as the ship ran afoul of a rather large wave, spilling precious drops of the molten liquid into the fire, but Annette pulled on a pair of thick leather gloves and held the mold steady for her anyways.

"I didn't think we were going to need so many of these," Sara shot back, tapping out a sharp message for Imelda and Ariel to watch where they were going before she began to pour the gold into the mold. "I have no idea what we're going to run into in the Locker though, and I'd prefer to be prepared."

"We've got at least two weeks until we're off the charts," Annette sighed. They had just made it through the English Channel, successfully dodging the French warships at Calais and emerging unscathed into the North Sea. There were still quite a few leagues between them and the edge of the map, many of them probably calmer than the ones they were traversing that afternoon. "Do we really have to do this now?"

"Have you not heard the singing?" Sara stared incredulously at her sister as she unbound the mold and deposited the cooling gold bullets into a bucket. "The sea is trying to warn us—we're in for a fight at world's end." She proceeded to pour the next set of bullets as Annette muttered to herself.

"What are you expecting? A whole ship of Perseids? All I've heard lately are the Sirens, who seem to be content to wait somewhere north of here for us." It was hard to pinpoint the exact location from such a distance, but the _Anjou_ had a unique cadence that was remaining more or less stationary about a week or so north of _La Tempesta_'s current coordinates. Annette was willing to bet that the Siren ship was accompanied by several of Durant's other ships, but the signatures of the non-chauvetwood vessels were too faint for her to pick up from so far away.

"It's not the Sirens that I'm worried about. The Locker is where souls lost a sea go, right?" Annette nodded as Sara reached for the crucible again, a scowl etched on her face. "Call it a hunch, but I think we'll find plenty of Perseids down there."

* * *

"Is it just me," Sebastian asked, training his spyglass on the ship that was boldly flying the red and white flag of Denmark, "or is that man over there signaling _'attack us, please_?_'_"

He passed the spyglass off to Annette, who studied the waving pennants for a few long moments before replying. "Well, his semaphore leaves something to be desired, but that does appear to be what he's trying to say."

"So what do we do?"

Annette shrugged. "It's a Danish ship. We have no quarrel with the Danes."

Sebastian was about to order _La Tempesta_ to sail on, to keep making their steady progress north, but something in the desperate way the other man was waving the flags made him hesitate. "Sara, how long would it take you to swim over there and ask him why he's begging for a band of pirates to attack his ship?"

"Consider it done," the young Gorgon said, slipping over the side of _La Tempesta_ and arrowing swiftly into the water without so much as a splash. She did not surface again until she reached the Danish galleon several hundred yards away. Sebastian watched through the spyglass as she popped out of the water and spoke with the man in black, who reacted surprisingly calmly for someone who had just witnessed a woman surface from out of nowhere. Sara nodded a few times and disappeared back under the water. Annette threw a rope over the side of the ship, and a few moments later she was back on board. Her clothes weren't even wet.

"Well?" Sebastian asked. "What did he say?"

"He says he'll give us a lot of gold or whatever else we want if we get him off that ship," Sara said, wringing out her hair which, oddly enough, _was_ wet. "He claims to be the Prince of Denmark, and his uncle the king is sending him to England to be murdered."

"King Hamlet's done _what_? That's not like him," Sebastian mused. He'd only ever met the Danish king once when he had visited Naples for a few days, but he had read plenty of reports on him and several of his treaties, and he didn't seem like the kind of person who would ship his nephew off to a foreign country to be dealt with. Actually, he hadn't thought King Hamlet _had_ any nephews.

"He said Claudius is king now," answered Sara. "Apparently he's Hamlet the younger."

Sebastian shrugged, collapsing the spyglass. "Whoever he is, it's not our place to meddle in the affairs of Denmark. Sail on."

The flags waved more frantically as Sebastian asked Ariel for a stronger wind and prepared to press on. _Help,_ the man in black signaled pleadingly. _Please,_ he added. _The English will kill me._

Sebastian sighed and rolled his eyes, then reluctantly gave the order to turn the ship around. "One pass of cannon fire," he grumbled to himself. "That's all you'll get from _rex maris_, Lord Hamlet. Right, you lot," he said aloud to the rest of his crew. "Load the starboard cannons!"

The Danish sailors had noted their change in course and the sudden flurry of activity on board. They were beginning to look slightly nervous as _La Tempesta _drifted closer to them on a wind that did not even rustle the sails of the other ship. Hamlet gave Sebastian a wave of gratitude and tucked the semaphore flags under his jacket as a pair of young Danish men emerged on deck and started to speak with him, gesticulating wildly towards _La Tempesta_.

"Run up the flag, Annette," Sebastian sighed to the youngest of the Gorgons. "We might as well do this properly."

"Aye aye, Cap'n," she said, throwing him a jaunty salute as she ran for the rope and began hauling away on it, sending the flag that Fiorenzo had designed for him soaring up to the top of the mainmast.

For the first time, Captain Sebastian di Napoli's flag unfurled in the salty sea breeze. A white skull grinned down on the Danish sailors from a snatch of black fabric, topped by a bloody crown in brilliant crimson.

"Pirates!" the Danish sailors yelled. "Pirates! Ready cannons!"

Sebastian drew his sword and hoisted himself into the rigging with his free hand, one foot planted firmly on the ship's gunwales. The smile scarcely seen since Antonio's death flickered across his lips as he felt the ship's timbers shiver beneath him in anticipation. A warm wind sprang up from the south, filling out their sails and ruffling playfully through his wavy hair.

"Fire!" he ordered, and the cannons roared.

The Danish ship fired back, but she was a merchant vessel not built for war, and the cannonballs fell well short of _La Tempesta_. As for Sebastian, he had no intention of crippling the other ship and so he had purposely attacked from a distance that would result in no serious damage, but a section of the railing had been blown away and it was presumably through that opening that the man in black had fallen into the waves.

"My lord Hamlet!" the two non-sailor figures on deck yelled, scrambling to keep the black-clad figure in sight as it bobbed in the water. "Prince Hamlet!"

But the figure did not respond. Indeed, it appeared quite lifeless.

"Sara, go fish him out of there," Sebastian ordered. "Drag him under and bring him around the other side of the ship though. Make it look like he's drowned."

The Gorgon grinned and slipped over the side of the ship without a sound. A few moments later, Hamlet's body disappeared from sight. The two men on the Danish ship were chattering frantically with their captain, but any debate as to whether or not to turn back for their lost passenger was stilled when Sebastian ordered a second round of cannon fire. The Danish ship turned and fled without even trying to mount a counterattack.

"Th-thank you," muttered an unfamiliar voice from behind Sebastian in slightly accented English.

"Why did I rescue you, Prince Hamlet?" Sebastian said coolly, turning to face the young Danish man. He looked oddly pitiful standing there amidst Sebastian's crew of pirates, a threadbare blanket draped over his shoulders, his inky black hair plastered to his skull and his teeth chattering together.

"My uncle, Claudius, sent me to England on that ship with a note instructing them to chop my head off as soon as I reached land," Hamlet explained, shuddering and pulling the blanket closer around his shoulders. "Not two months ago he poisoned my father, crowned himself king, and married my mother. He—he said he wanted to get me out of the public's eye after I killed old Polonius—it was an accident, I swear it was—but I think he's just scared that I know what he's done…"

Sebastian nodded solemnly. "So I saved you out of the goodness of my heart?"

"Maybe, sir, but I also promised you anything in my power to give if you got me off that ship." He sketched a quick bow. "Prince Hamlet of Denmark, at your service, sir."

Sebastian finally resheathed his sword and grabbed the tricorn hat that Imelda offered him. He studied the thing for a moment, inspecting each corner carefully before running a hand through his wavy hair and placing it on his head.

"Captain Sebastian di Napoli of _La Tempesta_," he introduced himself, holding out a hand for Hamlet to shake. "Have you ever been to Poseidon's Graveyard?"

The Danish prince looked taken aback and proceeded to shake his head vigorously. "No, sir. Sorry to say, I haven't. I've never really spent much time at sea."

"You can tell," Sara grumbled. "Only someone who's incredibly brave or unbelievably stupid would jump into the middle of the North Sea like that."

"Then you can offer me nothing of interest," Sebastian said grimly. "Unless you know another way to recall those who died before their time back into the world of the living?"

"I would that I did, Captain. If it were so, I would have my father back again."

Sebastian glanced over at the Acquati sisters and noticed that Annette was looking at the newcomer with a strange look in her wide grey eyes. "What is it, Annette?" he asked sharply.

The youngest Gorgon shook her head. "It's nothing, Captain. Sorry."

Sebastian put an arm around the shuddering Hamlet's shoulders and led him to his quarters, where he told him he could get some dry clothes and a rest. He found a fresh shirt and pair of trousers for the Danish prince, said he would send something for him to eat from the galley, and ducked back out of the cabin. He turned to head for the galley when he ran straight into Annette Acquati.

"He's going to die," she said bluntly. "I saw his death. And the Danish queen's, and the Danish king's, and that of a fencer in white and the two men who were with him on the merchant ship. That man is ill luck, Sebastian. Get rid of him as soon as you can."

* * *

"So are we just going to keep picking up strays? Because that appears to be what we're doing here." The Eduardo hummed in vague annoyance as Imelda swung herself up onto the fighting top to join her sisters, although it was impossible to tell whether the birds were mimicking their mistress's mood or just irritated at the sight of their nemesis perched on Annette's shoulder.

Medraut took one look at the glittering swarm of hummingbirds and promptly departed for the crow's nest at the top of the mast, ignoring Annette's cries of "Coward!" and settling down to preen his feathers in peace.

"Do you have a problem with strays?" Sara countered, crossing her arms.

Imelda shrugged, glancing down at the candles flickering in the windows of Sebastian's cabin where the two men—the two princes, she realized—were dining. "Not really. It's just… I have a bad feeling about this one."

"Me too," Annette said, finally giving up on luring her raven back down. "I wish we could help him, but he has his own curse and we can't break it. I told Sebastian that he should get rid of him, although somehow I have the sinking feeling that he's not going to listen to me. He sees too much of Antonio in him."

A shadow fell over the sisters then, and they glanced up as one to find the moon obscured by darkening storm clouds that they could have sworn had been nowhere in sight a few minutes ago. There was a chill wind, not of their own making, blowing them east towards Denmark and a sibilant, hissing voice came with it.

_Swear,_ it snarled, twining its way through the rigging and filling their sails with its sinister echo. _Swear. _And suddenly there was a column of mist rising on the deck below them, solidifying into the shape of a tall, bearded man in a suit of battered armor with his brows bound by a rusting iron crown, and the apparition was drifting towards the cabin where Sebastian and Hamlet were eating dinner.

"Oh, I think not," growled Annette, lightning dancing on her fingertips as she prepared to hurl it at the creature. "No ghosts on my ship."

But before she could act, two shadowy figures materialized on either side of it, wrapping their misty fingers around its neck. The scene played out in eerie silence with the apparition struggling violently, lashing out at its attackers, but Ariel held fast and bore the other spirit down to the deck where it lay twitching for a few moments before finally dissipating, blown apart by the unearthly breeze that had brought it there.

"Interesting." Annette let the lightning in her hand fizzle out, a curious expression on her face. "Very interesting."

"I don't care how interesting it is that Ariel just took down that—that _thing_," Imelda retorted. "I want that Danish tragedy off this ship tomorrow."

"You'll be sending him to his death," Sara reminded her.

The eldest of the Acquati sisters glared down at the spot on the deck where the ghost had appeared. "Better his than ours."

* * *

Hamlet sat at the pirate captain's table, picking gloomily at the stew the other man had brought him. It wasn't that the stew was bad—it was actually quite a lot better than he had expected—it was more that he was starting to question how wise a decision it had been to ask a crew of pirates to rescue him. True, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had been given his death warrant, but who was to say what fate he would meet at the hands of Sebastian di Napoli and his crew?

Sebastian di Napoli. An Italian name. And the captain, although he spoke English extremely well, had the slight whisper of an Italian accent in his voice. What was an Italian pirate captain doing in the middle of the North Sea?

"So," Sebastian said, pulling out a chair across from Hamlet and kicking his long legs up on the table next to his bowl of soup. "Prince of Denmark, huh? Why didn't you become king when your father died then?"

Hamlet's glance flickered up to the pirate captain. He was an oddly handsome man, tall and thin with a shock of wavy dark brown hair that curled down to frame pale green eyes and gaunt cheeks. Oddly enough, he reminded Hamlet a little bit of Horatio. Oh, what would dear Horatio think if he could see him now? Consorting with pirates, sending his old friends off to their deaths…

"Inheritance in Denmark is through tannistry, not primogeniture," Hamlet explained, blowing gently on his next mouthful of soup and forcing all thoughts of Horatio out of his mind. "When my father died, the lords of the council elected my uncle king instead of me. Fortinbras and the Norwegians have been menacing our borders, and they said he had more experience." Which might have been true, since Hamlet was scarcely twenty years old, except Claudius had spent much of the time that he could have spent campaigning drinking and carousing instead.

"Hmm," Sebastian murmured, twirling a spare spoon around his fingers. "This would be the same uncle who poisoned your father and tried to kill you? Denmark's even worse than Naples," he snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Like you'd know anything about politics. You're a pirate."

The captain shrugged dismissively. "I am now, but I wasn't always. I served in King Alonso's court for most of my life."

"And what did you do there? Scrub pots?" Hamlet sneered, although he found himself growing curious about this man with the cunning eyes and elusive smile.

Sebastian pursed his lips as a frown tugged down at the corners of his mouth, an expression that made him look even more like Horatio—damn it all, Hamlet was _not_ going to think about him. "I was a courtier," the captain finally said, pouring himself a goblet of wine and downing it in a single gulp. "A prince, actually."

"You? The Prince of Naples?" Hamlet scoffed again, but yes, he could see something that bespoke his lineage in his face, something undeniably regal in his bearing. But he could not be the Crown Prince, that was… that was a man named Ferdinand, if Hamlet's memory served him well. What other Prince of Naples was there? There was the king's younger brother, but he was sickly, lingering on death's doorstep more often than not. And besides, his name was… his name was…

Sebastian.

Sebastian di Napoli.

"My god. You can't be _that_ Sebastian di Napoli."

"Whyever not?" the captain grinned.

The Danish prince came very close to spitting out his soup in shock. "Because—because he's supposed to be dead, or nearly so. And you are very—very—" Hamlet felt a blush spreading across his cheeks as he watched the other man roll up his sleeves, baring tanned, wiry arms, and lace his fingers together behind his head. "Very not dead," he finished lamely.

"Observant, aren't you?" the captain quipped with a smirk. "Yes, I am Alonso's brother, although that is not exactly a relationship I'm proud of."

"Please don't tell me you tried to kill your brother, usurp his throne, and marry his wife, because I'm starting to like you and that would be a rather unfortunate turn of events." That quirky little half-smile, the way his hair fell over his eyes, the easy banter… The pirate's resemblance to Horatio was starting to become rather discomforting.

Sebastian sheepishly ran a hand through his hair and gave a little shrug. "Well there might have been a small plot to kill him and take over Naples… But definitely not to marry his wife because one, she's been dead for several years, and two, she was never really my type anyways."

"And what is your type?" the prince found himself asking, perhaps leaning in just a bit too close to the captain.

"Evidently witty, dark-haired fencers," he said, a remote, faraway look in his eyes until he suddenly seemed to realize the words that had come out of his mouth and the person sitting across the table from him. His face flushed bright red. "I'm sorry, that did not come out the way I meant it to—I didn't mean—I already have a—"

Hamlet suddenly noticed just how close they were and quickly straightened up in his chair, staring resolutely at his bowl of soup. "I know—I'm sorry—I shouldn't have—There's someone back home—"

"His name's Antonio—"

"His name's Horatio—"

The princes stared at each other, jaws hanging open and identical expression of disbelief on their faces, before dissolving into fits of hysterical laughter. Hamlet couldn't remember the last time he had laughed so hard, and he only stopped when he was holding his side and gasping for breath.

"Wait… Antonio…" There was some prominent Italian noble with that name, wasn't there? He had taken a course in Italian politics his first year at Wittenberg, and although he had promptly forgotten most of it, he still remembered quite a few of the names… "Not the Duke of Milan, Antonio?"

Sebastian grinned sheepishly, fiddling with the bright red sash he wore around his waist. "The very same. Who's this Horatio?"

"He's a scholar. We went to university together and he came back to Elsinore with me when my father died." If only Horatio were here with him now. Horatio would love this—Hamlet could picture him perfectly running around on deck wanting to know how everything worked and why the knots were tied like that and if he could read the ship's log please and just beaming at the chance to finally practice his Italian with the crew. "Where's Antonio?" Hamlet asked, glancing around the cabin as though he expected the duke to jump out from the shadows at any moment.

And just like that, all the humor vanished from Sebastian's face. "Poseidon's Graveyard. He's the one I'm sailing down there to find."

"I'm so sorry. I had no idea." Hamlet was poised to offer the other man a shoulder to cry on, but even though Sebastian looked to be on the verge of tears, none fell.

"Come with me," Sebastian said suddenly, a strange intensity in his pale eyes as he reached across the table to grab Hamlet's wrist. "We can stop by Denmark on the way and pick up Horatio. I'll get Annette's raven to take a message to him and he can be waiting on the docks in Skagen by the time we get there."

It was a tempting offer, to sail on _La Tempesta_, to forget about Denmark and his father… But he had seen his father's ghost in the forest, he had sworn that he would avenge him, and that promise stuck in his heart like a barb. He couldn't go with Sebastian, not while his murderous uncle still walked free. After Claudius was dead though, maybe… But who would rule Denmark if he did not, who would protect the country from Fortinbras and his marauding armies?

"I wish I could," Hamlet said, gently prying Sebastian's fingers from around his wrist, "but I can't. I have to go back to Denmark and deal with my uncle."

"But—" The captain bit his lip and shook his head forcefully. "Nevermind. Just… Just remember that I'm here if you change your mind."

_Take the damn ship!_ He could practically hear Horatio yelling in his mind. _He's offering you a way out, my lord—take it, you bloody fool! _And, ironically, if it hadn't been for Horatio, he might have done it. He might have forsaken his vow of vengeance, forgotten all about Claudius and Gertrude, and signed the articles right beneath Sebastian if Horatio hadn't been waiting for him in Denmark. But he could not leave Horatio, little scholarly Horatio with his ink-stained hands and his mind full of unspoken words, alone in grim Elsinore. And Hamlet knew himself well enough to be certain that once he set foot on Danish soil again, he would not escape until Claudius was dead or disgraced. Even if Horatio met them on the coast and Hamlet never left the ship, he would see Denmark again, he would see his father's land, he would see his father's ghost.

He had to go back.

If Sebastian was willing to risk a voyage down to Poseidon's Graveyard without a second thought in some mad attempt to rescue Antonio, Hamlet could make sure that his father's soul would rest in peace. And as for Hamlet's own soul… Well, he was already damned, wasn't he?

"If I avenge my father and I can find someone competent to rule Denmark—and I'm still alive—I'll send for you. Deal?" He held out his hand, and Sebastian shook it firmly.

"Deal. I have the feeling you and Antonio will get along just fine."

And Hamlet smiled, even though he could feel Fate's heavy hand clamping down on his shoulder and he knew that he would never make it back to the sea. "You'd like Horatio. If you ever see him—if you ever see him without me, tell him—tell him I trusted you. Tell him we were friends."

* * *

Antonio had lost all track of time. There had been a fight and a gunshot and he had tumbled over the side of _La Tempesta_, locked in a death grip with the monster that had tried to kill his Sebastian. The water had closed over his head and he had struggled with stiffening limbs against the hands that held him down, dragging him deeper and deeper into the depths. And then his eyes had closed, and when he had opened them again, he had found himself here.

"Here" was a beach of black sand stretching down to an angry, frothing sea that Antonio wouldn't have dared to venture out into even if he could swim. Further inland, the sand turned into ghostly, colorless grasses that blew in an invisible wind, which slowly gave way to jagged obsidian peaks. There were villages nestled in there, with ramshackle houses built of flotsam and shattered ships by somber inhabitants who scarcely spoke. There were people of every time, every culture, eking out a meager living from the oyster beds along the shore and the pale crabs that scuttled across the black sands or hunting whatever scrawny game they could find in the mountains. They moved like sleepwalkers, devoid of life, of energy, of hope, and each one bore the same black tattoo of a trident somewhere on their body.

Antonio's tattoo was right over his heart, where the skin was ridged and seamed in an angry mass of scars that he had no memory of receiving. Every day he paced the length of the beach over and over again, scratching at it until it bled and trying to figure out how to escape. He would not become like the other souls trapped here, a hollow shell of his former self that sat listlessly on a driftwood log sucking the marrow from washed up bones.

He had drowned, that much he knew, he had paid the price for Sebastian's life.

But who was going to pay the price for Antonio's death?


	17. There Was Something in the Water—

Cornelius Araey had cleaned up surprisingly well. It was amazing what a decent haircut and some new clothes could do to turn the scruffy pirate captain into something that almost resembled the officer he had once been. Durant inspected the polished black boots, the clean white trousers and shirt, the smart blue jacket with its shining buttons and commander's bars that fit surprisingly well for something scavenged from the bottom of the quartermaster's trunk, and the stiff woolen hat perched on shorn grey hair. Yes, Araey would pass for a British officer again and perhaps not bring too much shame to the Royal Navy.

"Don't make me regret this," he hissed, shoving a saber and a pistol into his former nemesis' hands. "Now follow me and try not to draw attention to us."

"Wouldn't it be easier not to draw attention to ourselves if we weren't wearing painfully bright uniforms that practically scream_ look at me, I'm rich and important_?" Araey retorted, but he took the weapons and followed Durant down the gangplank anyways.

If Durant had possessed a better sense of humor, he probably would have found the situation at least vaguely amusing. Here he was, partnered up with his best-friend-turned-nemesis-turned-begrudging-ally to sneak into Aberdeen at midnight to find their mutual ex-best-friend-turned-major-liability. As it was, the commodore just gritted his teeth and pretended not to notice the vague stench wafting from his companion. If they could have spared just an hour more, Durant would have found an inn and held Araey at gunpoint until he finally agreed to take a bloody bath. Unfortunately, they were on a rather tight schedule if they wanted to meet up with Arrington and her Sirens in time to intercept _La Tempesta_.

"If you even think about trying to run, I will put a bullet in your back." Durant's hand strayed to his pistol, but he did not draw it yet. The dockworkers were already looking at them suspiciously enough without seeing him march Araey down the pier. Although he hated to admit it, perhaps the traitor had actually had a point when he'd suggested not going into town in full uniform.

Araey fell back to walk next to Durant. "Oh, don't worry about me. I have no intention of doing anything until Sebastian di Napoli is bleeding out at my feet and the Acquatis are back in whatever hell they came from."

The unlikely duo spoke no more as they ventured through the cobblestone alleyways of Aberdeen, dodging every pair of guards they saw as they made their way uptown. It was probably just paranoia on Durant's part, but he didn't want anyone alerting the Crown that he had let the pirate king slip through his fingers and had to resort to an unholy triple alliance with the Sirens, Cornelius Araey, and Donal Breckenridge to finish him. He had the sinking feeling that he could say goodbye to his office if this little escapade ever came to King George's attention, and Jay Durant had grown very attached to the title of Commodore.

"Will you please tell me what's going on?" Araey finally demanded when Durant motioned for him to stop in front of a respectable-looking storefront with a small sign hanging over the door that proclaimed it to be the site of _Breckenridge &amp; Co._, presumably some sort of apothecary's shop judging by the drawing of herbs beneath the lettering. He glanced up at the sign, then at the candle burning in the window of the apartment above the store. "Oh no. You didn't—"

"Well how else did you think I did it?" Durant shot back, making sure that the street was empty before swiftly knocking on the door to the rhythm of "God Save the King."

There was the sound of something falling and a string of muffled curses, and then a tall Scotsman with a thick red beard flung open the door and ushered them quickly inside. "What the hell are you doing here, Durant? And who—No." His eyes lighted on Cornelius Araey, whose face was still painfully recognizable even with the haircut and the change of clothes.

"He's with us," Durant hurried to explain, stepping between the two men. "The Acquatis have stolen his ship and crowned the pirate king, and now they're heading down to the Locker. We need your help. Please, Breckenridge."

Breckenridge crossed his arms and stood his ground. "I think I've helped you quite enough. I made you two Perseids—"

"Yes, and one hardly did anything and the other got himself killed." Even though Emiliano had helped them finish off the majority of Araey's old crew, drowning and hexing him had been a mistake, Durant realized that now, but there wasn't much he could do about it since the Acquatis had reportedly finished him off. He supposed that Emiliano had deserved his fate, betraying first his own crew and then Durant—the man who had saved him from _La Tempesta_'s curse—to run away to Nassau and go into hiding. "I'm not asking for an army here, I'm not even asking for any more Perseids, the Acquatis have made sure that we'll find plenty of those in the Locker. It would just make me feel a lot better to have a sorcerer of our own with us. It'd be just like old times, you and me and Cornelius."

"Jay, I've been home for a month. I just got back from service with the fleet in the Caribbean, so I'm supposed to be on leave for another two months. Also, I am not and have never been a sorcerer. I'm a part-time _alchemist_." Breckenridge pinched the bridge of his nose, but Durant could see his resolve weakening.

"The Acquatis, Donal. We can take down _the Acquatis_, we're this close," he said, holding his fingers a hairsbreadth apart. "Can you imagine what our reward would be? We'd live like princes."

Breckenridge let out a deep sigh and invited them to take a seat in his kitchen and make themselves comfortable while he packed. "I cannot believe I'm letting you talk me into this," he grumbled to himself as he pulled vials of unsettlingly discolored liquids out of his cabinets and started tossing them into a satchel. "I am going to regret this."

There was also a very good chance that Durant was going to regret this, but the commodore chose to ignore it. He had a ship full of the most notoriously bloodthirsty privateers, three more ships of solid British soldiers, a pirate captain with a desperate need for revenge, and a semi-retired quartermaster who had dabbled a bit too far in alchemy—not to mention an army of Perseids awaiting them in the Locker. The three witches and their precious pirate king didn't stand a chance.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" Sebastian asked, helping Hamlet over the side of the ship and into the small rowboat.

"Oh, believe me, I'd love to," the Danish prince replied with a sad smile. "But I can't."

He was going to die. If Sebastian let the Acquatis lower that rowboat and take him to shore, Hamlet was going to die. And the worst part was that Sebastian had the growing suspicion that Hamlet knew it too, that he was going knowingly to his death and there was nothing Sebastian could do to stop him.

He wanted to tell him to be safe, to not do anything stupid, to come back to the sea, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead he flung his arms around the Danish prince in a quick, fierce hug. The other man stiffened in shock for a moment before returning his embrace, and although later he could never be sure that it hadn't just been sea spray, Sebastian thought he was crying.

"Don't worry about me. I know what I'm doing," Hamlet whispered in his ear. "Now go find your duke."

Before he could reply, he felt the Dane slipping through his arms as Imelda began to lower the rowboat. He released the other man and jumped back from the railing before he was pulled off balance, shooting the eldest of the Acquati sisters a venomous glare that she studiously ignored. There was nothing he could do except watch as Hamlet rowed away towards his fate, just a dark blot bobbing on the waves driving him cruelly back to Denmark. In another lifetime, Sebastian jumped overboard after him and convinced him to leave his father's ghost behind. In another lifetime, the Acquatis hauled the two soaking princes back up on deck and sat them down with blankets and steaming bowls of soup. In another lifetime, Sebastian and Hamlet sailed down to Poseidon's Graveyard and back side by side.

But in this life, Sebastian gulped down his tears and turned his back on the black-haired prince to ask Ariel for more wind and for the Acquatis to take them as far north as they could go.

"You did the right thing," Annette said as she hoisted herself up into the rigging next to him.

"I sent him to his death," growled Sebastian. How could it be _right_ for Hamlet to die? Was it too much to ask that he be spared from his fate? What good could his death possibly bring about?

The young Gorgon sighed. "True, but he will free his country from a corrupt, incompetent king before he does so. And Horatio will live, for better or for worse. Who knows, you might even run into him someday."

"But how do you know all that?" Annette spoke so assuredly of Hamlet's doom, and yet she had not been able to predict Antonio's—or had she, and she just hadn't told him? When it came down to it, what did Sebastian really know about the Acquatis and their strange powers?

"I saw it in his eyes. Sometimes when I look at someone, I get glimpses of their fate—Hamlet just happened to be particularly easy to read."

"What do you see for me?" Sebastian demanded, staring up into her clear grey eyes.

Annette searched his face for a moment before replying. "You will pass through Death unscathed, but the one who you seek to drag from its clutches will not. If Antonio is to return with us, it will not be the same Antonio you once knew."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" he shot back challengingly as Ariel spun the ship northwards. The spirit had taken to sailing surprisingly quickly, although perhaps he shouldn't be so stunned given the nature of the ship Ariel was steering.

Annette shrugged and started climbing towards the crow's nest. "It means exactly what I said," she threw back over her shoulder. "I see you returning from the Locker stronger than ever before, but Antonio… If Antonio returns, it will be in darkness."

Sebastian very much wanted to pull Annette down from the rigging and interrogate her about just how she knew all of this, but he doubted that he would be able to get anything useful out of her. Instead he contemplated going up to the quarterdeck to dredge some more information about the Locker out of Sara, but she was even more stubborn than her younger sister and Ariel was also on the quarterdeck. The spirit had yet to threaten Sebastian again, but he couldn't help but see the vicious faces and haggard wings of the harpies whenever he glanced in Ariel's direction, and he found his hand drifting instinctively towards his pistols. The sooner that they were rid of the spirit, the better.

In the end, Sebastian ended up perched on the figurehead with the wind rustling through his hair and the sea spray splashing up in his face, his gaze fixed on the northern horizon. Annette could be wrong. Annette had to be wrong. He would bring Antonio back from the Locker, safe and unharmed, and life would go back to the way it was before they'd gotten into this whole mess. The two of them together, no interfering older brothers, no undead British monsters—just Antonio and Sebastian, side by side where they belonged.

But even then, there was a part of Sebastian that knew that life after the Locker could never be the same as before. Even if Antonio returned the same sarcastic, reckless, loyal man he had once been, _Sebastian _wasn't the same. Gone was the perpetual invalid, the spare heir lurking in the shadows, the shy and indecisive young man. That Sebastian had started to die the day they left Naples, and Antonio's death had hammered the last nail into his coffin.

Who was he now though? The captain, stern and grim? The pirate king, carrying everyone's hopes on his shoulders? The outlaw, always on the run from something he could not name?

Sebastian clung to the carven mermaid, completely unperturbed by the fact that he was soaked to the bone and would only continue to have waves break in his face if he stayed out on the figurehead. There was something about the feel of the salt water washing over him, sinking into his skin, trickling into his veins… Surrounded by the sea, Sebastian could forget Annette's prophetic words for just a moment and let himself relax for the first time in weeks.

What Sebastian did not know was that the sea was starting to change him once again, worming its way into his blood, his heart, his brain… Antonio had once remarked that Sebastian had too much of the sea in him—that had only been the beginning.

* * *

_La Tempesta _wasn't going to stop at the island. She wasn't even going to pass within firing distance. Aislinn Arrington could have screamed in sheer frustration. She had waited in the middle of godforsaken nowhere for weeks, struggling to keep the _Cursed Yank _and the _Oliver_ out of trouble while Durant took a detour to Scotland and subjecting half her crew to frostbite and all of them to misery, just to watch their quarry sail past at an unearthly speed long outside the range of their cannons. It just wasn't fair.

"Arrington!" Durant yelled from the _Chorister_'s helm. "Follow that ship!"

Like she hadn't guessed that that was going to be his next command. Her crew was already waiting in place, all she had to do was drop her hand and the sails plummeted down, launching the _Anjou_ after her sister ship.

So this was it then. Down to the Locker to deal with the Acquatis and their pirate king once and for all. Except Prospero had said to capture Sebastian di Napoli, not kill him, and she had a letter to give him from his brother, and whatever reward she could get from the King of Naples was bound to be much better than the scraps the Crown would throw her after Durant and Breckenridge took all the glory for killing the pirate king.

Breckenridge, the Scottish alchemist. Just looking at him gave her the chills, knowing what he had done to Theo and Emiliano and countless other hapless souls. Knowing that Durant had made a special detour and risked being taken in for questioning to smuggle him out of Aberdeen only made her trepidation worse. Those two—three, if you counted Cornelius Araey—couldn't be up to anything that would benefit Arrington and her Sirens.

The men would betray her, she had no doubt about that.

That was why Aislinn Arrington had brought her own little bit of insurance, all the way from his sandy Nassau grave.

"Emiliano!" she barked, and a black-haired man in a deckhand's clothes, his wide-brimmed hat pulled down low over his face, turned towards her voice. "It's time to repay your debts."

* * *

"Ariel!" Sebastian yelled over the roaring wind. "We've got company!"

"It's the _Chorister, Anjou, Oliver, _and _Cursed Yank_," Annette clarified from the crow's nest. "Damn, I should have known that we couldn't shake that scum so easily. We can outrun them to the boundary, but if they risk following us…"

_They will go down with us—_

_ —five ships of souls for Setebos—_

_ —and we will meet them in the Locker._

Annette leapt down from the crow's nest, shifting the wind around her to cushion her fall as she landed lightly on the main deck, a sly grin on her face. "True, but first they must get to the Locker in one piece. All hands on deck!"

And then Sebastian looked, really looked, at the horizon for the first time in several hours, and he finally realized why all the maps ended where they did. To the north, the seas were a churning frenzy of white-capped waves, circling around each other in a giant, vicious spiral with a yawning abyss at the center. It was like all the oceans of the world were draining down a funnel, and yet somehow the water was constantly being replenished so that the sea level remained constant. And presumably that funnel led straight down to the Locker.

_La Tempesta_ was just entering the outermost edge of the whirlpool. There was still time to break free from the current, to turn and cut across the waves to safety.

"Is—is that the way down to the Locker?" little Gin asked, visibly trembling as the roar of the waves grew louder and louder.

"It is." Sara tossed her a coil of rope. "Now get the rest of the crew and tie down anything you don't want to lose—yourselves included." Gin immediately ran for the closest cannon and started securing it to the deck, signaling for Alessandro and Edan to grab more rope and do the same.

Sebastian staggered up to the quarterdeck as the ship lurched violently beneath him. "Steer around the whirlpool, not straight towards it!" he ordered Ariel. "Go with the current!"

The ship began to gain speed as it spun, circling faster and faster towards the gaping hole at the heart of the whirlpool. Durant and the Sirens, still some distance behind them, must have realized the monstrosity they were sailing into, but the British ships showed no sign of altering their course. So they were going to follow _La Tempesta_ down to the Locker then. It made no difference to Sebastian—this feud could be settled just as well on the seas below as on the seas above.

"Hold your course!" Sebastian cried, grabbing a coil of rope and vaulting over the quarterdeck railing to catch Gin when he saw her thrown dangerously close to the side of the ship. "You've done all you can!" he yelled over the hungry bellow of the waves as he grabbed the young girl's shirt a second before she was tossed into the frothing water. "Get to the mast!"

With everything secured that they had time to secure, the Acquatis were now working as fast as they could to tie the crew to the mainmast, using their powers to meld their bare feet with the ship's planks and desperately trying to keep their balance as they spiraled closer and closer to the gaping maw of the whirlpool. Sebastian snatched the other end of Imelda's rope and put all of his strength into tying the knots as tightly as he could. He would not lose his crew to the sea, not when they were this close to breaking their curse for good, not when they were trusting him to get them through this, not when Gin was staring at him with terror etched on her face and Alessandro's knees were shaking and Fiorenzo had closed his eyes and turned his head towards the sky. They were his friends—no, they were his _family_, the only family who had ever cared about him and the only family he had cared about in return. He would not lose his family.

"Sebastian!" Imelda screamed when the crew was safely secured. "Grab a rope! Tie yourself off—_now_!"

They were seconds away from their final decent. Battered by the waves and tossed by the current, _La Tempesta _was nearly horizontal over the abyss, and Sebastian saw the last unused piece of rope tumble past him into the darkness. The ship bucked underneath him as Ariel made one last desperate effort to right them again, accidentally launching Sebastian forwards past the masts. Then the deck dropped again, and Sebastian was soaring past the figurehead, miraculously not getting clobbered on the head by the flying jib, and latching onto the bowsprit.

"Oh for fuck's sake," he growled, rolling his eyes in exasperation as he clung to the soaking beam of wood with every ounce of his strength. So this was how it ended. Drowned in a mad attempt to free his cursed crew and save Antonio, all because he hadn't thought to grab a damn piece of rope. He might have laughed if he hadn't been the one about to plummet headfirst into a whirlpool.

And then he remembered Antonio's sash.

It was still knotted tightly around his waist, all he needed to do was find something to tie the loose ends to before _La Tempesta _tumbled into oblivion. He very much doubted that he had time to make it back onto the main deck, so Sebastian gritted his teeth and lashed himself to the bowsprit with a scrap of old red cloth and prayed to whatever god might be listening that he would make it to the Locker with his ship.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach when he saw the abyss beneath him and felt _La Tempesta _begin to slide over the edge. This was it.

He shut his eyes against the stinging sea spray and wrapped his arms and legs around the bowsprit as tightly as he could, unable to hear the Acquatis screaming his name over the roaring of the waves. And then there was water all around him, cascading over his head and soaking into his pores, trickling into his mouth and down into his lungs, and there was salt water in his blood and salt water in lungs and salt water in his soul.

And Sebastian di Napoli felt something inside him stir.

* * *

Antonio stumbled and collapsed on the beach, his blood seeping from the gashes where he had been clawing at the trident tattoo and mingling with the black sand, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept. He'd eaten some oysters for breakfast, but that was the only meal he'd had in days. Eating and sleeping weren't important though, what was important was finding a way out of the Locker and back to Sebastian…

"Antonio!"

Perhaps he should have tried to snatch a few hours of sleep at least, since he was evidently hallucinating now. Sebastian couldn't be calling his name. Sebastian was alive and safe in the world above, ruling the high seas like he had been born to do.

"Antonio!" Sebastian's voice called again, and now Antonio's cruel mind added the sound of booted feet running across the sand to his hallucination.

"Why?" he groaned, curling up into a ball and covering his ears to block out the sound of Sebastian's voice and the rustle of his jacket as he ran and the clinking of the pistol at his hip. What had he done to deserve this torment? Surely it wasn't justified by his plotting against Prospero and Alonso? He hadn't really harmed either one of them in the end, the only one he had hurt was himself—and Sebastian. Oh god, he didn't even want to think about what Sebastian had gone through after his death. At least he had the Acquatis looking after him, they wouldn't let him get into too much trouble—

"'Tonio! 'Tonio, are you okay?"

And then Sebastian's apparition was crouching down next to him and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, turning him around and pulling him into an embrace, and those arms were far too solid, that grip was far too tight to belong to any figment of his imagination—

"_Sebastian?!_" he gasped, and it was Sebastian, his Sebastian, real and solid and holding him as though he had no intention of ever letting go. "What are you doing here?!" A sudden realization wiped the disbelieving grin from his face and replaced it with a look of horror. "No. _No._ You were safe, I saved you, I _died_ for you—"

The taller man pulled Antonio to his feet and, with his arm still around his shoulders, pointed out what Antonio should have noticed immediately. _La Tempesta_ was bobbing on the waves a short distance off shore with the cheering crew standing at the rail as they applauded, Medraut and the Eduardo were chasing each other around the masts, the Acquatis were hanging from the rigging—and was it just his imagination or was Imelda yelling "_Kiss him already!_" as Annette elbowed her in the side?

"And I'm here to save _you_," Sebastian whispered, gently wiping the mix of blood and sand off of Antonio's chest, a small gasp escaping his lips when he saw the scarred trident tattoo beneath the mess.

Antonio could scarcely believe it. Sebastian was here, Sebastian was rescuing him. Little sickly Sebastian with his perpetual coughs and fevers, who never seemed to eat quite enough, who had only ever been in one real battle before—that Sebastian had become someone quite different, a captain with a loyal crew willing to follow him over the edges of the earth, a pirate king who walked proudly across the sands with his shoulders back and his head held high. But he had the same shy smile, the same quiet laugh… It was like the person that Antonio had always seen in Sebastian, the glimmers of confidence, the fleeting flashes of a great leader, had finally struggled to the surface. Antonio was ready to follow Imelda's orders and kiss him right there on the black sands of the Locker when he noticed what was fast approaching behind _La Tempesta_.

"Um, Seb… Did Durant and the Sirens follow you down here?"

"Fuck. I was kind of hoping we lost them in the whirlpool." Sebastian grabbed Antonio's hand and the two began to sprint for the rowboat.

"Whirlpool?" Antonio yelled as they dived into the boat and started hauling on the oars, speeding back to Sebastian's ship.

"Long story, I'll tell you when we get back!" Sebastian shot back.

And then the British opened fire, Annette used her powers to make a rope tie itself around Sebastian and Antonio's waists and yank them up on deck, _La Tempesta_'s cannons roared to life, and all hell broke loose.


	18. —Now That Something is in Me

"Well this is going to be fun," Sara Acquati sighed, tossing Antonio a saber. "We've got four British ships closing fast behind us, Captain—and if I'm not mistaken, that's a small army of Perseids gathering on the shore, led by none other than the dearly departed Theo Barlow himself. And now they're swimming towards us."

Sebastian sliced the rope off his waist and snatched for his pistols. "I can see that! How do you kill a Perseid in the Locker?"

"Don't really know," Imelda shrugged, cocking her pistol and aiming it at Barlow. "Let's find out." She fired and hit him square in the forehead, but he kept on swimming. "Evidently not with regular bullets. I'd wager it's probably venom and gold bullets again, in which case you can thank Sara for these." She quickly shoved a small bag into Sebastian's hand before dashing off to distribute the fatal bullets to the rest of the crew.

The second round of cannon fire tore into _La Tempesta_, turning Sebastian's world into a maelstrom of flames and shrapnel. A piece of wood scored his cheek, leaving a long, bloody gash in its wake, but he ignored it and sprinted for the quarterdeck. "Ariel, get us out of here!" he shrieked as he lunged up the steps, Antonio close behind him. "We have what we came for, the curse will break when we leave, now go!"

_I followed the Acquatis' instructions down here—_

_ —getting back is another matter entirely—_

_ —and I do not know the way._

Ariel stepped away from the wheel, all three pairs of arms in the air in surrender as the spirit relinquished command to the captain and began to fade.

_This is not my fight—_

_ —I took you this far—_

_ —now you must finish this yourself._

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?" Sebastian yelled, but he lunged for the wheel all the same, standing firm as the air exploded around him. "Fire starboard cannons!" _La Tempesta_'s guns tore into the _Anjou_'s sails, but not before the _Oliver _had drawn even with them and the British soldiers had begun to swing across the narrowing gap between the two ships in a swirl of blue fabric and blazing guns. "Annette! How do we get back?"

"I—" The youngest Acquati put her sword through the first soldier's ribs and wrenched it free in a spray of blood. "—don't—" Another soldier ran up behind her and nearly put a bullet in her back before Annette flipped out of the way and shot his arm off. "—know!" And with that last, terse word the Gorgon went down under a swarm of blue-jacketed men.

Neither Imelda nor Sara was in any state to help him either. The former was protecting Gin and Alessandro while they reloaded the cannons, while the latter had just launched herself into the _Cursed Yank_'s rigging and was wreaking havoc on the British ship. So much for the Acquatis…

That was when the Perseids hit them, clawing their way out of the water and dragging their bodies up on deck. There were scores and scores of them, all the monsters that the Acquatis had killed over the years and all of those that had been defeated before the sisters rose to power. There were so many that it took Sebastian a moment to realize that some of them were coming from the wrong direction.

Most of the Perseids were approaching from the shore, boarding _La Tempesta_ from the stern, where the crew was struggling to stop them before they could reach the cannons. But there was a handful of men who were swimming for the _Chorister_ first and kneeling before a red-haired man with a dagger in his hand before jumping overboard and making for the prow of Sebastian's ship, the mark of a Perseid still fresh on their cheeks…

Of course. All the souls in the Locker had drowned, that was half of the hexing process already done. The man on Durant's flagship was just finishing the job. And if he reached the shore, he would have an almost inexhaustible source of potential Perseids and there was no way they would escape, Acquatis or no Acquatis…

"Antonio!"

"I'm on it!" Sebastian caught a glimpse of Antonio swinging on board the _Chorister_, the black trident that marked him as Setebos' glistening darkly on his bare chest, and then Aislinn Arrington and Charles Duffy were standing behind him, guns drawn.

* * *

Antonio was in no shape to be fighting alone on a ship full of the best soldiers in the British Royal Navy, but someone had to take out the sorcerer before he could make any more Perseids to send at them. And with the Acquatis otherwise engaged, that someone appeared to be him.

Fiorenzo joined him a few moments later and the two fought back to back, struggling to reach the red-haired sorcerer before he could finish hexing any more drowned sailors. The British fell before their onslaught, and for a time it seemed like they would actually make it.

But then Barlow was in front of them, and Fiorenzo went down with a bullet in his leg, and Antonio found himself facing down the Perseid captain on his own again. He loaded the golden bullet into his pistol, but he still didn't have the damn venom and the Acquatis were spread out on the other three ships—

The Perseid grinned as he drew his sword and Antonio let loose a blood-curdling screech as he rushed towards him, praying that the noise alerted one of the sisters. But before Antonio could engage the undead captain, he tripped on Fiorenzo's unconscious body and went sprawling on the deck, his sword and pistol flying in opposite directions. Barlow's boot slammed into the small of his back, pinning him there as the cold steel of his blade kissed the back of Antonio's neck, and Antonio had a brief moment to wonder what happened to the souls that died in the Locker before the sword came whistling down—

"Stop!"

The blade halted a hairsbreadth away from his neck, and Barlow kicked Antonio so that he rolled over and found himself staring up into the craggy face of the red-haired sorcerer and, a step behind him—

"Cornelius Araey," Antonio spat. "I should have known I'd find your wretched carcass here."

Araey crouched down in front of him, a twisted grin on his face. "And I should have known that you're the best way to bring down that traitor pirate king." _La Tempesta_'s former captain proceeded to haul Antonio to his knees and motion for a pair of sailors to assist him. "Now turn him, Breckenridge," Araey ordered with ice in his voice, and Durant, appearing on the edge of Antonio's vision, nodded his assent.

Antonio struggled wildly against the two sailors holding him down, but it was useless. His hands were tied behind his back, his mouth was gagged, he was on his knees… Someone kicked him in the stomach, and by the time his vision finally cleared again, the Scotsman was pressing a shard of bone into his cheek while chanting strange words under his breath.

There was a searing pain that started from where the bone had pierced his skin, spreading out to every inch of his body. He felt like his blood was boiling, like his skin was on fire… He thought he screamed, but since he couldn't hear anything over the pounding of the blood in his ears, he wasn't sure.

And then the pain pierced his brain, and Antonio understood the words all too well.

"_You who were drowned, you will rise again,_" Breckenridge was intoning as he carved the upside-down Y into Antonio's cheek. "_You will rise by my grace, bound to my will._"

No. No, he had to fight it, had to fight the hex that was worming its way through his veins, boiling his blood away to nothing, threatening to steal away his mind and turn him into the same breed of killing machine that had tried to murder Sebastian—oh god, _they were going to use him against Sebastian_.

"_The sea took you, but I pulled you out. You owe your life to me, you are mine to command as I will. You will kill the pirate king._"

_You will kill the pirate king…_

_ He would kill the pirate king…_

But the pirate king was Sebastian, his Sebastian, sickly little Sebastian who he had nursed back to health more times than he could remember, Sebastian with his sparkling eyes and shy smile, the Sebastian who used to dance with him at midnight through the halls of a palace where no one else cared if he lived or died…

_You will kill him. You must. I command it._

He couldn't help it. The bone knife was carving the mark of a Perseid into his cheek, the hex in his blood was telling his fingers to tighten around the hilt of the dagger that was placed in his hand—

And then the knife was ripped out of his skin, a trail of blood coursing down his face like tears as he lunged for the man who had attacked his master, his savior—

"_Fight it, Antonio! Fight—argh!_" The other man's voice turned into a strangled croak as Antonio's fingers wrapped around his throat and began to squeeze. There was a bluish haze over his vision, but through it he almost thought he caught a glimpse of features he should recognize, of bright green eyes and an aquiline nose, of tender lips and a face he knew as well as his own. "_'Tonio,_" he rasped, making no effort to free himself. "_'Tonio. Please._"

"Sebastian. Oh god, _Sebastian._" Antonio let go of the other man, and then there was a knife in his hand and he was whirling around, burying it up to its hilt in Breckenridge's chest. The Scotsman crumpled to the deck and Araey and Durant rushed forwards, but somehow the British officers were outnumbered, the blue-coated sailors surrounded by a sea of red.

That was when Antonio realized who was flanking Sebastian. Aislinn Arrington in her tattered red robes and Charles Duffy in a disheveled uniform, both with loaded guns trained on Araey and Durant.

"How—"

"I'll tell you later!" Sebastian tossed him his sword as somewhere behind them the _Cursed Yank_'s sails went up in flames, a wave of heat rolling over everyone on deck. "Now fight!"

* * *

When Sebastian had seen Arrington and Duffy on either side of him, he'd thought they had finally reached the end. He doubted that even with Annette's training he could hold the two of them off _and_ steer the ship_ and _deal with the incoming tide of Perseids. But then the Siren and the ex-commander had shot the _Oliver_'s captain, and the privateers had turned on the British soldiers who had hired them.

Arrington had muttered something about Prospero and Alonso and Durant being more trouble than he was worth and then shoved a crumpled letter addressed to Sebastian in his brother's handwriting into his fingers. Meanwhile, Duffy had just grumbled that Durant and Araey had screwed up his life more than Sebastian ever had.

Sebastian was fairly certain that there would be a price to pay for this momentary alliance after the battle was done, but when he saw Antonio on his knees in front of the sorcerer, any doubts he had about the two deserters slipped from his mind.

And that was how Sebastian di Napoli found himself on Durant's flagship with a crew of Sirens behind him, facing down Theo Barlow with a pair of loaded pistols and no goddamn venom as Durant and Araey laughed at him.

"Acquati!" he yelled. "Could use one of you over here!"

But there was no response, and then Barlow threw himself at the pirate king. Sebastian dropped his useless guns and drew a dagger instead. He got a few good, solid hits in, but he was still no match for the Perseid and there was nothing he could do as Barlow forced his arm behind his back, twisting and twisting until his fingers were forced to drop the knife and his shoulder popped out of its socket with a sickening jolt. Sebastian gasped for breath as pain lanced up his arm, but he would not scream, he would not give the monster that satisfaction.

He gritted his teeth and lunged for his dagger with his right hand, ignoring the stabs of agony in his left shoulder, when suddenly a black-haired figure materialized between him and the Perseid and Antonio dragged him away from the fight.

"Sara!" Antonio yelled, shielding Sebastian's body with his own as the cannons roared around them and the air was thick with musket fire between the British and the Sirens. "Sara!"

But it wasn't Sara Acquati who came running out of the smoke, a jagged cut above her right eye still trickling blood down her face. It was Annette.

"What the hell did you do to yourself, Sebastian?" she grimaced, dropping to the deck next to him.

"Dislocated my shoulder," he hissed between sharp, pained breaths. "Fighting Barlow. Do you—do you have the venom?"

"About that…" Annette studiously avoided his gaze as she passed him a scrap of wood from the deck and told him to bite down on it as she popped his arm back into place. "Apparently it doesn't work down here. Now get ready on three. One, two—" On "two," Annette rotated his shoulder back with a sharp pull and a breathless scream from Sebastian.

There was also a scream from Barlow and the Perseid fell to his knees, a dagger protruding from his ribs as Sebastian's black-haired savior stood over him, the upside-down Y showing clearly on his cheek.

"Get them out of here, Annette!" Emiliano yelled as Barlow struggled back to his feet and a pack of Perseids peeled off from the fighting on _La Tempesta_ to come to their captain's aid. "Only the dead can kill the dead here, now _go_! I can only hold them off for so long!"

"I judged you wrong," the youngest Acquati said quietly before scooping Sebastian up and hurling them both back onto _La Tempesta_. "You stay there," she hissed, putting a hand on his shoulder when he tried to rise and making sure Antonio, Arrington, Duffy, and the surviving Sirens had made it across before grabbing a rope and sprinting for the _Anjou_, where Imelda and Sara were putting the last of the British soldiers left on board to flight.

They had to get out of the Locker, and soon. And Sebastian, even with his mind clouded by pain, had the feeling that he knew just what they needed to do. It only made sense that if a whirlpool had gotten them down here, then something like a whirlpool in reverse would get them out…

The sea stirred in him, salt water flowing through his veins and leaving the strangest tingling sensation in his fingertips, even blotting out some of the throbbing in his shoulder. Was this how the Acquatis felt? Sebastian didn't know and didn't care, all that mattered was that he was bound to the sea beneath them and the sea was bound to him and when he twirled his fingers, the water under the _Anjou_ twirled too, faster and faster.

"Sebastian!" Imelda yelled from the quarterdeck of the other chauvetwood ship as Sara lunged for the wheel. "What the hell are you doing—"

"He's getting us out of here!" Annette shot back, and then the waters were spinning twice as fast as the young Gorgon lent her powers to Sebastian's. "Now shut up and help!"

And then the water under _La Tempesta_ was swirling too, the sudden current pulling the Perseids under, the drowned sailors powerless against the waves. Sebastian raised one hand and sent a wall of water into the _Chorister_, pushing the British ship out of cannon range and washing about half the sailors overboard. He didn't see what happened to Durant and Araey, but with Breckenridge dead, they had little hope of escaping the Locker—one last sacrifice to Setebos and Davy Jones. He did catch a glimpse of Emiliano, locked in combat with Barlow, as the two Perseids tumbled over the side of the ship, and he threw a small salute to the former second mate.

"Help me up, Antonio." Antonio put Sebastian's good arm around his shoulder and hauled him to his feet, the two of them standing side by side as Sebastian gritted his teeth and struggled to raise his arms above his head. The water rose with them, the whirlpools becoming waterspouts that launched the two chauvetwood ships higher and higher out of the water.

They were hurtling for the clouds, the British ships charred specks beneath them, and Sebastian closed his eyes and poured all his newfound power into waterspouts. The dual pain of his shoulder and his mind was blinding, Antonio's rock-solid presence the only thing keeping him standing, but Sebastian stood and Sebastian bent the sea to his will, and then they were in the clouds but the clouds weren't clouds anymore but the sea again, and the sun was beating down on them as icebergs drifted past…

"We made it," Sebastian gasped, a smile flickering across his tired face before he collapsed in Antonio's arms.

* * *

They had made it. Against all the odds, they had made it. Antonio could scarcely believe it, that he was feeling the sun on his shoulders and the wind in his hair again, one of his old shirts covering the damning trident tattoo and its scars. Some of the crew were laughing, others were crying, but all of them could feel the static of the shattered curse in the air. They were free, and—surprisingly—they were alive. Sara was treating Fiorenzo's leg, but Duffy and Arrington had dragged him off the _Chorister_ in one piece and it looked like he was going to be fine. Alessandro had broken his arm, but that would heal with time, as would Gin and Edan's cuts. In fact, after looking around, Antonio could not see one soul that they had lost.

"You did it, Seb," he laughed, holding the other man close. He had regained consciousness shortly after their return and was staring around the deck in utter amazement.

"I—I guess I did. Does this make me part Gorgon?" The look on Sebastian's face was so adorably confused that Antonio broke down in a fit of rarely-heard giggles.

"No," Annette tossed over her shoulder as she whisked by, a case of maps under her arm and Ariel following eagerly behind. "You're not annoying enough to be a Gorgon. But you are the High King of the Seas. Now, if you have no objections, Your Majesty, I'm going to plot a course for Milan so we can take Ariel back."

Milan. His city. His city, that was currently under Prospero's rule—

Sebastian gave a slight shake of his head. _No_, that little motion said. _Forget Milan. It's not worth it._

And it wasn't, not anymore. Antonio could see that now. His brother did not have many more years left, and when he died, Milan would pass into Miranda's very capable hands. The city didn't need Antonio anymore. But Sebastian needed him, and now that the sea no longer whispered promises of his death in Antonio's ears, he would be content to follow the pirate king wherever the winds took them. There was just one slight problem…

"Is it night already?" Antonio asked, waving his hand in front of his face. "I forgot how quickly it gets dark." The Locker had always been lit by a perpetual, unidentifiable source of light, which made it difficult for those trapped there to determine how much time had passed since their deaths, but now there was a dark cloud on the edges of Antonio's vision that was slowly drawing closer… He stumbled on a coil of rope, but Sebastian caught him and lowered him gently to the deck.

"Yes," Sebastian replied, although his voice was husky from holding back tears and Antonio felt a stab of panic in his gut. "Yes, it's going to get dark, but I'm right here."

Antonio had the vague sense of a crowd of people gathering around them as he lay on the deck with his head in Sebastian's lap, but he could not see them. The darkness was coming closer and closer, blocking out the sun and the sky and the sails overhead.

_You thought you could escape Setebos… _a voice hissed in his mind, a voice that sounded oddly like the one that had told him he would die at sea. _There is a price for that._

"Sebastian," he whispered, his fingers tightening around the other man's wrists. "Sebastian." His panic grew as his sight dimmed.

"You're going to be okay. Trust me." Antonio would have been more willing to trust him if he hadn't heard the catch in his voice, but there was nothing he could do, just wait as his vision faded out.

The last thing Antonio di Milano saw was Sebastian's face. His unkempt brown hair that Antonio longed to run his fingers through, the bright grey eyes that had always seen straight into his soul, the regal profile that was the one good thing the royal line of Naples had given him, the mouth that curved upward into a brave smile… And then the darkness filled his eyes and he saw no more.


End file.
